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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585628">A Lonely and Ramshackle Head</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbyHornedEquine/pseuds/ChubbyHornedEquine'>ChubbyHornedEquine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Kissing, Aziraphale Has PTSD (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has Weight Issues (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Communication is Sexy, Cool cool, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Grey-Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Meet-Cute, Negative Body Image, Other, Past Abuse, Pining, Rating May Change, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Zie/Zir pronouns for beelzebub, author has a communication kink, but then it gets better!, first 2 chapters hurt a lot, fluff town: occupants Crowley &amp; Aziraphale, oh is it projecting onto aziraphale hours?, past trauma, seriously; there's zero comfort, so i'm saying them to you, they just talk a lot ok?, this fic is quickly becoming a list of things i wish someone had said to me, who spilled all this pinesol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:49:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>75,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChubbyHornedEquine/pseuds/ChubbyHornedEquine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Two people desperately in love with the idea of being in love and so very scared of it in their own ways.</p><p>Also known as the Serendipity-AU-no-one-asked-for-that-I-didn't-know-I-was-writing-cause-I've-never-actually-seen-the-movie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>242</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale set the kindle down in his lap with a happy sigh. He stared off at the wall for a moment before immediately picking the device back up and rereading the final page of the book. It was perfect. The perfect happy ending. The lovers had gone through a lot but this particular one featured a bit more open communication than was prone to the genre and he had a deep appreciation for it. He went back to the main library screen and scrolled through. Absently he grabbed his cup from the table beside the couch and took a sip, wincing as the liquid hit his taste buds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tea had gone cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept scrolling with a sigh. He'd read everything on it, many of them two, three, half a dozen times. He glanced across the room, at the small library of physical books he owned. It was the same with those. Ah well, it was late anyway. He could just continue to ride the high of such a wonderful story. He even re-read the last chapter again for good measure before finally getting up and washing his mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words would sit with him, the characters would bring a smile to his face, and the thoughts of their love overcoming all would settle warm in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, until he was comfortable in his bed, sheets pulled up to his chin, as he stared at the darkened ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was when the warm shifted. It grew cold and solid and heavy and just weighed him down. And with it came the same thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>That won't ever be mine, will it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the problem, he thought, with reading romance as a middle aged man, living alone, who hadn't had a decent snog in years much less an actual relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled onto his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had an excellent imagination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he thought really hard, he could almost feel the weight of another's arm around his waist. A gentle kiss at his shoulder. He wondered if they would be the kind of person to sleep in full pajamas, like him. Or would they be the kind to sleep in only a night shirt and underwear? Maybe just bottoms. He tucked down, hiding his smirk behind his blanket, maybe they'd be the kind to sleep naked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would think about it, about being cuddled and nuzzled into a gentle sleep. He would think about laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, talking about nothing and everything at all with this mystery person. Sometimes the two of them wouldn't get out of bed until mid day, just talking and laughing and teasing. He thought of getting woken with gentle kisses and whispered good mornings. He thought about afternoon naps to the sound of thunderstorms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And sometimes...well, sometimes he would think of other things. He would think of firm hands and gentle whispers. It was funny, in all of his books, the protagonist was either some inexperienced virgin or some wily tempter. There was rarely someone who fell in the middle. Where were all the main characters that knew exactly what they wanted but were still nervous? Still shy? That were well aware of what filthy things put a flush to their cheeks but still perhaps needed a patient hand? No there weren't many like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he would think of it. Think of meeting someone very interested in all the things he was interested in. Someone that didn’t consider sitting down and having a chat to be a waste of time, their eyes glazing over like ... his hand would still and he'd have to push away thoughts of his last failed relationship. No, it wouldn't be like that. They would be happy to talk, to listen, eager even. He would think of heated frantic movements and slow, breathy ones. He would think about silly moments, and laughter. Because if you couldn't sometimes laugh while making love who were you with, really?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it helped. He would clean up, fluff his pillow, and let those thoughts carry him to sleep. And sometimes, he would be stuck laying there, a mess, breath ragged, tears in his eyes as the silence of the room suffocated him. He would imagine the shift of weight on the bed as his partner would get up to get a cloth. He would imagine the kissing and teasing that would follow. Eventually he would do the work himself and lay on his side and stare out the window and listen to the crickets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't always at the end of the day that he imagined. Sometimes he'd be making his bed, folding the laundry, doing the dishes, and he'd imagine what sorts of miscellaneous conversations would happen in those small moments. A question about tea. What's the plan for dinner? He'd even imagine stupid arguments. Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>had agreed to get the milk on the way in and hadn't. Or, really, how many half-drank cups of tea and cocoa could accumulate before all the mugs were used? A surprising amount really; he had a lot of mugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had an excellent imagination, except in one area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wouldn't always hit him, not in the moment, not unless he really thought back. But sometimes, he would be brushing his teeth, reading over the label to his face wash for the millionth time, or staring down at the water marks on the faucet and thinking how he should probably clean on Sunday, and all the while in the back of his mind this other life with this perfect person would be spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he would look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he would see his reflection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he'd look away. He'd look away because the person in that mirror was never, ever the person in his fantasies. His mystery partner? Hardly mattered. He wasn't concerned with looks, not for them. Sometimes, if the fantasy called for it, he'd think of stubble on their cheek. Of how strong their hands were. Long hair, short hair, didn't matter. Brown eyes, blue eyes, didn't matter. But when it came to him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would think back on his fantasies that day. Curled on the couch, someone by his side as he watched a movie. A squeeze on his waist while he did the dishes. Only it wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> waist, was it? No, there was... in his fantasies there much less there to fill one's hand. Passionate kissing only it wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>jaw, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>neck, was it? It was never as round as his. There was never as much thigh or stomach or arm or neck or chin or or or…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was always less and it somehow made him more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More attractive, more desirable. He didn't know who the person was in his fantasies but it wasn't him. If he let himself think about it, it was like watching two strangers. Two beautiful, perfect, madly in love strangers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would turn off the water, his toothbrush clattering angrily in the cup when he tossed it down. He would click off the bathroom light, avoid looking in the full length mirror in the hall, and climb into bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had an excellent imagination. He could imagine someone whispering beautiful words, soft declarations of love and adoration. He could imagine hands as they traced arms and chest. He could imagine the entwining of fingers and kisses to the inside of a wrist. He could imagine gentle nips at a collarbone. He could imagine the raindrop tickle as fingers explored. Kisses on stomach, on hips, inner thigh. He could imagine the embrace of a solid hug, the gentle brush of a forehead against another, the soft exhale against the crook of a neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was never, ever, his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could never conjure these fancies, hear those words, and visualize his face, his body, as the recipient. His hands wound wander beneath his covers, beneath his pajamas, and poke and pinch and grab unkindly at every curve and dip. He would imagine himself laid bare, naked on his covers, and could hear the laugh, unkind and mocking. He could imagine groping hands and thrusting hips and no kissing, no declarations, no cuddling and no laughter. That was less imagination, truth be told, and more memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would, in his worst moments, let himself sink further and further into that spiral. He would relive those memories. He would smother himself in his inability to picture someone, anyone, saying beautiful things to him. He would whimper and cry and outright sob. He would turn on his side, pull his covers close, and hold himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Aziraphale would get up. He would make his bed. Eat breakfast, shower, go to work. He would imagine what color their toothbrush would be. He would wonder if they liked coffee in the morning or tea? Cream or no? He would take turns imagining which one of them had to leave for work first, who kissed whom goodbye, who was left to do the dishes. When he came home he would imagine if he was the first one in, would he start dinner? Was it a bad day, would he order in? He would imagine, as his key turned in the door, what it would be like to step in and smell food cooking, hear music playing, a glass of wine already on the counter for him. He would imagine complaining about his day, about awful customers. He would imagine the kiss on his cheek. He would imagine listening to their day. Funny stories about their coworkers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would imagine the change of season. Imagine long fall walks and snow covered window panes. He would imagine holidays. Family get togethers that were sometimes grand and sometimes awful but either way it was fine because at the end of the day they had one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale would sit on his couch and open a book, a new one, a favorite, it didn’t matter, and he would read. He would let himself get swept away in the adventures of someone else. He would gasp at the secrets revealed and get frustrated at the lies told. He would swoon at the romantic gestures and side-eye all the untrustworthy side characters out to ruin a perfect love. He would let himself live in that world for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And later, he would imagine.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags will be updated as the fic progresses.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale had an excellent imagination. But sometimes, he didn't need to pretend, sometimes he would just...observe. People at the park, in line at the grocer, at the movies (it had taken some time after his last relationship before he managed the courage to go to the cinema alone), on public transit, even his own friends. Especially, it seemed lately, his own friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of his closest friends was a woman named Tracy. She ran an adorable little paper store just a few blocks from his job. That was how they met, he'd been tasked with grabbing a birthday card for someone that everyone could sign. He'd gotten quite distracted and spent almost his entire lunch gently running his fingertips over letter sets, embossed card stock, and little stamps meant for scrapbooking. He took to going in every so often on his lunches, not too often, he didn't want the owner to think him </span>
  <em>
    <span>odd</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and would spend twenty minutes looking at journals and reading various sections of the greeting cards. To his surprise she started striking up conversation and it was easy, talking with her. He went home with a small journal, a 7 year pen, and a handful of rolls of something called 'washi tape'.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friendship with Tracy evolved into an invitation to a nearby tea spot. She'd had a long day and decided to close up early. "I only waited around this long in case you popped by, love. I thought we could get some tea." Just the idea that she'd thought of him, waited for him, he had to quickly wipe at the corners of his eyes while her back was turned as she locked the shop up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one tea outing evolved into a monthly outing. Which evolved into a weekly Sunday brunch. Eventually he met her partner, who went by Shadwell and seemed to mutter to himself quite often about what Aziraphale could only assume were conspiracy theories of a truly impressively convoluted magnitude. At first he was a bit concerned for Tracy but had to acknowledge she was fully capable of deciding who she spent her time with. Perhaps there was some charismatic, charitable side to the man that only she was graced with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale couldn't really picture it, but he supposed it wasn’t impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before long a new face appeared in the shop, a woman named Anathema. She worked part-time and although Aziraphale thought she seemed better suited to a cottage on a foggy moor or maybe perhaps a house in a massive tree on the edge of a swamp...she was quite pleasant. Her presence added some new odds and ends to the shop; he noticed a distinct uptick in the amount of crystals around the counter and register. And more than once she sent him on his way with a small frown and a reminder to do something about his aura, that perhaps if he would let her do a reading she could at least point him in the right direction?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, sitting at home, re-reading his favorite novella and listening to the steady chirp of the crickets, he would look around the empty and silent apartment and think that he knew exactly what his aura needed. And then he would imagine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weekly brunches were often just Aziraphale and Tracy, but every so often they included Shadwell, Anathema, and before long, Anathema's beau, a young man named Newt. Or at least, called Newt. He was a kind sort. Quiet, and terribly unlucky with electronics. Which Aziraphale could identify with on some level, truth be told. The two had apparently met in their senior year in college, gone their separate ways for internships and traveling and the like, and managed to reconnect years later. The thought of it always made Aziraphale smile. To be able to go and explore and experience and live and still come back to someone that brings you joy... It sounded rather lovely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Newt worked at a pre-school and, according to Anathema, was just wonderful with the children. He also often tutored high schoolers which Aziraphale was able to see firsthand on a few occasions; he was quite good at it. Near the end of a few Sunday brunches Newt would give Anathema a gentle kiss on the cheek, blushing something fierce, and disappear off to a booth where a gaggle of teens would meet him. They were loud and rambunctious and teased the lad quite often, but it all seemed good-natured. Newt was an easy-going sort, he got along with everyone. It was a skill Aziraphale envied a bit. He envied Newt’s ability to go with the flow, Anathema’s quiet confidence in who she was and what she was about, and Tracy’s own kind of confidence that enabled her to live loudly and without remorse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was Aziraphale's social circle. His friends, and in many ways, family. He met some of the teens but could never recall their names. It wasn’t only Sunday brunches. He went to new restaurant openings with Tracy, sometimes dinner at their favorite haunts, the occasional pub visit. Anathema would bring him to poetry and spoken word events, to artful demonstrations that often involved an uncomfortable amount of mess that was liable to stain his clothes or exhibits he wasn't sure if he was forbidden to touch or encouraged to. Being a hip and artistic 30-something that she was, Anathema seemed to have her finger to the pulse of everything...weird. It was endearing. And every so often he would see a play with Newt. The man never talked much, he would often sit there, wide-eyed, taking it all in, thinking mysterious Newtonian thoughts, and yet when Aziraphale would ask him what he thought at the end he rarely got more than a simple "I liked it." It could be frustrating but he did so enjoy the company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale desperately and fiercely loved his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was also desperately envious of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of the way Tracy would just light up when talking about some dinner plans she'd made for her and Shadwell. Or the small smirks Anathema and Newt shot each other across the card table. He was envious and sometimes, quite honestly, frustrated. When someone would complain of someone else having forgotten some innocuous thing. Or Tracy bemoaning that Shadwell was off to some Witchfinder convention or conference or meeting in someone's dingy basement. Sometimes Aziraphale wanted to throttle them and yell, "Yes but they're </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span> aren't they? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone. A text away, a phone call, the next room. They exist. They’re real."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unfair of him, he knew. Those little complaints and disappointments were part of it all and they were more than allowed to bemoan and should expect their friend to be supportive. And he was! Aziraphale would never let his envy get in the way of his friendships. No, he'd gotten quite good at schooling his face into something other than weary resignation when Tracy once again complained about abandoned condensed milk cans throughout the flat (honestly just throw the whole man out, he sounded like a nightmare.) And he considered any moment he managed to prevent his eyes from rolling entirely to the back of his head when Dagon swooned about her boyfriend’s poetry to be a victory worthy of the history books. Honestly these were mild annoyances, at best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when he was home at the end of a long day, a long week, an endless month, when he was imagining, sometimes he thought of his friends. Of the easy smiles between the couples, the casual brushing of hands, even the annoying complaints and would get hit with such a debilitating ache of </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> he often felt he couldn’t breathe. It took up physical space in his chest, in the core of him. All it took was a thought, a particular reverie that he fell too deep in, and suddenly he was heaving, suddenly there was this thing inside and it was devouring him and he was so, so hollow and then he was crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was where he found himself one Saturday evening, having turned down an invitation to a trivia night with everyone. He was making the bed and had been thinking about how he hated being a fifth wheel. And then he thought about having someone to go with him, about the gentle brush of a knee against his under the table, of a smile, (he went through a few options for that) a coy smile, a flirtatious one, something genuine and goofy, a barely there quirk of the lips. He’d spent a good deal of time on that one, standing there in the quiet of his room, pillow half-shimmied into its case as he stared off. After smiles it was laughter. What sort of small touches would they share? He knew he was partial to a touch at the back of his neck. He shivered at the thought of it with a little ‘hmm’. He thought about leaning in close for no reason other than he could, that he wouldn’t get pushed away, wouldn’t get shoo’d. He thought about clasped hands and the clamor of goodnights as the various couples went their separate ways. He spent some time here as well. Would they go back to his flat? To theirs? He thought about kisses in the hall that spilled into kisses in the doorway. He thought about giggling and stumbling and the kind of teasing that came with not just familiarity but comfortability, with trust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked and was once more aware of the emptiness of his room. He could feel the ache growing, the swirling miasma within and he tried to push it down as he fluffed his pillow and smoothed his sheets. But each action came with the echo of ‘alone, alone, alone’ and his breath hitched and he swallowed it down, down, down but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t. It was too much and too thick and the cry spilled out. He stumbled away, not really sure where he was intending to go. He had the vague idea that he couldn’t sit on the bed, it was made, it was neat, and so he took a few aimless steps before simply stopping and leaning his forehead on the wall. His cries had become true and real sobs now, and he pulled his arms up, folding them to his chest, fingers curling around his bowtie for want of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hold onto. He leaned fully against the wall and oh, that was nice wasn’t it? It was different from crying in bed, wrapped in blankets, a curled up sob on the couch, because here was something firm and strong and it was holding him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale had an excellent imagination and it was so easy to imagine leaning into the strength of a person, of arms wrapping around him while he shifted his weight from foot to foot and hiccuped through his tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only made him cry more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he took a shuddering breath, cheeks damp and nose sniffly, and pushed himself off the wall. Wiping at his eyes and face he made his way out to the kitchen. He thought perhaps some hot chocolate and a good book was in order. Let him imagine some other characters, people with faces he didn’t know, whose stories always ended well. The light of the fridge seemed painfully bright in the dark kitchen and he winced at it as he fumbled for the milk. He had to do shopping, he thought absently. He tried hard not to think about what a shopping list for two might look like. He opened the carton and gave it a cursory, routine sniff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said quietly, to no one at all, “it’s gone bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale put the milk back, closed the fridge, and set about getting ready for bed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can officially say this is now a real WIP that I hope to update with some semblance of consistency. Tags, summary, and rating have all been updated so please double-check those. It's gonna be an angsty one, folks! But I promise a happy ending &lt;3 Find me on twitter @tfw_thevoid!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley, Anthony J., had given up a long time ago. Oh they still fought for things. They fought for their flight upgrades, for a hotel room with a view. They fought for artists and their work. They fought for their rights and for the rights of people like them. And they would fight to the absolute death for a pair of peep toe stilettos that weren't intent on decimating their little toe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What they stopped fighting for was love. They were an avid believer of choosing their battles carefully and this was one they never seemed to win. It wasn't a full surrender, they reasoned, as much as a strategic retreat. They abandoned that battlefield a long time ago, left the decimated carcasses of romances past and the detritus of hearts broken to take to the high ground. A place where they focused on literally anything else. Their work, their friends, their hobbies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every so often a pang would hit them. An ache, a want, a sadness. And all they had to do was glance behind them at the charred ground, the crater left from falling one too many times, and their resolve would renew. It was easier this way, they thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in a couple short decades, they started to believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley had gotten very good at pushing any hint of romantic inclinations down. They didn't allow themselves to spin fanciful stories about happenstance meetings and blushing, bumbling introductions. They refused to think about late night cuddles, about afternoons on the couch with a blanket, some candies, and six seasons of something moderately worth binging. No morning coffee and biscuits. They didn't think about burrowing deep under the covers to the gentle sound of dishware and running water while someone made breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never happened, never would happen, so what was the point?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tried, for a while, to just allow themselves to daydream, because what was the harm? The harm was hope. And it left deep gouges in their heart. So they stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They believed that a friendly smile was always just that, friendly. They didn't flirt and they assumed no one was flirting with them. They didn't pursue physical relationships because, they learned the hard way, they simply didn't have the ability to separate physical touch from romantic interest. They would fall. They would always, always fall and it never hurt any less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It got easier, over time, to convince themself of these things. They made many, many friends. They helped those friends with their relationships. They had hobbies, they had a job they loved, and if they ever got lonely they could go to London or hop on a plane and visit New York. See a gallery, a museum, do some shopping, eat in a restaurant where no one really noticed, or cared, if you were alone. And later they would go back to their hotel room, it wasn't sad or lonely to come back to an empty hotel room, not like an empty home, and they would take a nice, long bubble bath, read a little, order room service, and sleep on plush sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before long, they stopped thinking about it. The bouts of loneliness got fewer and far between. The ache lessened, the want simmered down, and they just...existed. Not everyone got a soulmate, not everyone met someone they loved and that loved them, there wasn't always that support system, the giddy knowledge that someone out there wanted nothing but the best for you, for your well being, that someone out there chose, out of everyone else, you and you, out of everyone else, chose them. It wasn't guaranteed. Not everyone got true love. Not everyone got to be happy in that way. And Crowley was fine with that. They'd come to accept it. They had happiness in other things. They had love in other ways, profound love for his friends, for example. So they didn't come home to a kiss on the cheek, they didn't get to talk about their day over dinner, they didn't get inside jokes or check their phone to find silly messages or a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on or someone to hate-watch six seasons of a truly awful show with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was fine. Really. It was fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One Thursday afternoon Crowley found themself caught in a very sudden, very heavy downpour. They hadn't brought their umbrella, thinking that while the clouds looked threatening, they'd be able to make it to the little bistro a few blocks down for some lunch. They barely made it one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spotted a white awning across the street and dashed over to it. Once underneath they assessed the damage. There was water in their shoes, which did not feel very nice. Their cashmere poncho had absorbed most of the rain but if they tried to go back out they'd get soaked through. They had an appointment at four so going home and getting into jammies and ignoring the rest of the day was out of the question. Hopefully it would lighten up enough for them to at least get back to the gallery in time. Until then, Crowley looked at the shop behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eden Books," they murmured. Couldn't hurt to have a looksee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bell over the door chimed as they stepped in. There were a handful of people ambling about, most looked as though they'd come in to avoid the rain as well. Crowley's heels echoed against the hardwood floor and they winced internally. When no one seemed to notice or mind, they kept moving about the shelves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They weren't looking for anything in particular, of course, merely soaking up titles and covers. It was its own kind of gallery in that way. Someone shelving books in the other aisle said in a bored voice, "Let us know if you need any help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled and nodded and kept moving. They wandered through the various genres, they wandered through the young adult, through cookbooks and self help books and travel books, they browsed the children's section, truly some gorgeous covers there, and one of the only places to find books with deckle edges! Crowley loved the way those looked and felt. They glanced towards the front; it looked as though the rain was letting up. One last section of wall to peruse, they were thorough that way, and then they could head out. Maybe still salvage a lunch before their meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a small section of wall, near the register, that had a handful of books on display and a sign above them that read 'What We're Reading”. Underneath each book was a small index card with a brief description of which employee was recommending the book and why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone named Dagon recommended a book on poetry. Crowley flipped through it but it wasn't quite their bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beelzebub's card was very short, recommending a collection of essays. There was a llama on the cover. Crowley took a picture of it; it seemed interesting but not something they wanted to read right then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the final book had </span>
  <em>
    <span>two </span>
  </em>
  <span>index cards under it. It seemed, even with their admittedly beautiful cursive, this Aziraphale person couldn't quite fit all they had to say on one card. Crowley looked up at the book, </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Ghost of Thornwood Place</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then back down at the cards.</span>
</p><p>
  </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em><br/>
<span>Is it possible to laud a book for its quiet? For the path it takes, treaded softly, free of sudden plot twists, of great reveals and tragic betrayals? I think so. The Ghost of Thornwood place is a bit of a departure in my usual fare in that it's literary with just a touch of genre. Still, I found I couldn't put it down as we follow this ghost over decades, and all the different lives that pass it by. We watch as the ghost interacts, or doesn't, and as it begins to ask questions that were perhaps better asked when still living. It's a story about invisibility, and loneliness, and living, or well, existing, governed by our fears. I won't promise a happy ending but one that is quiet, and perhaps a little terrifying in its simplicity. </span><br/>
</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” They picked up the book, turning it over. It was a small thing, paperback, not too hefty. They could finish it in a weekend if they wanted to. They reread Aziraphale’s cards. It was so much more personable than the others. Like the person was speaking right to Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They put the book on the counter, already rummaging for their phone in their purse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” said the employee, “you’ve got the last one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? Is it that popular?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well we didn’t have many copies to begin with, but Aziraphale will be happy just the same. He loves it when his recommendations do well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Book in tow, Crowley was glad to see the rain had all but stopped. They grabbed a quick lunch and were back in their office with an hour to spare. Sitting back in their chair, they slipped the book out of its paper bag and turned to the first page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright Aziraphale, let’s see what you’ve got.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The book of essays Crowley takes a picture of is The Geek Feminist Revolution by Kameron Hurley &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fridays at Eden Books were the only consistent day of the week, depending on the time of year. In the summer, as people began going on weekend excursions and needed their beach reads, it could get rather crowded. In the fall, however, it was fairly a ghost town. Which, given how close they currently were to Halloween, felt appropriate. Then there was the holiday season, without a doubt their busiest time of year.</p>
<p>Aziraphale's phone buzzed in his pocket. A short one, a text, he thought. He glanced around the nearly empty shop, save for the parent and child in the children's reading nook, and slipped his phone out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[5:24 pm]</b> we still good for tonight?</p>
  <p>Yes, of course my dear! <b>[5:26pm]</b><br/>I'm looking forward to it <span class="x1F60A"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Smiling Eyes )</span></span> <b>[5:26pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. They'd be closing in about half an hour at which point Anathema was supposed to pick him up and they were going to go on a journey to an art gallery she knew of in the area. Aziraphale had looked up the place online and knew they closed at 8, the book shop closed at 6 and if it didn't take too long to get there, he hoped to have a solid hour and a half to peruse. He didn't like feeling rushed in galleries or museums. One never knew what would catch their eye, what would draw their attention or for how long. He would have much preferred to go early, right at open. But apparently it was closed on Mondays and Anathema worked Thursdays, his days off.</p>
<p>He pocketed his phone and looked around once more. He supposed he had enough time for another dusting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn't take long to get to the gallery at all. Apparently it was within walking distance of the bookshop.</p>
<p>"You said you know the owner?" Aziraphale asked, as they walked the final couple of blocks.</p>
<p>"Yeah, my friend Crowley. Met in school, same dance classes."</p>
<p>"I didn't know you took dance, what sort?"</p>
<p>"Interpretive," she said with a shrug. "Modern. Didn't really enjoy it as much as I thought I would but Crowley really took to it. They're a sight."</p>
<p>"Will they be here tonight?"</p>
<p>"Nah, they don't come in on Fridays or Saturdays really. "</p>
<p>Aziraphale felt a small bit of relief. He wasn't quite in the mindset to meet new people, make small talk, ask all the appropriate questions about their work and what led them here and blah blah blaaaah. He just wanted to go in and look at some art and not have to talk to anyone.</p>
<p>"You know I don't think I've ever been to this part of the neighborhood," he said, looking around at the shop faces.</p>
<p>"Really? It’s so close to the shop.”</p>
<p>“I know but I usually go in the opposite direction to visit you and Tracy.”</p>
<p>“Well, there's some great restaurants, very much your kind of thing."</p>
<p>They turned a corner and there it was. Aziraphale knew, partly from the few images that came up when he looked it up, and partly because, well, <em>there it was</em>.</p>
<p>The Fallen Gallery was nothing like the rest of the buildings on the street. A hard angle in the middle of soft edges. Where the buildings around it had cobble stones and brick, wrought iron gates, one on the end even had a turret that graced the edge of the skyline, the Gallery was a harsh modernist slash of glass and white concrete. A cantilevered entrance that slanted upwards at an angle, what looked to be slightly tinted floor to ceiling windows on two stories, the third had far less windows, and a fence that went around the roof. It wasn't wrought iron or fancy, it looked to be simple, vertical bars, a horizontal one across the top. He wondered what was up there.</p>
<p>Aziraphale shifted his gaze, taking in the whole of the street across from him, the warm browns of the surrounding buildings, the yellow of interior lights peeking through curtains, greenery along the walkway, and the gallery right in the center, the stark white light of its interior made the entrance shine like some sort of beacon.</p>
<p>"People in the neighborhood call it 'the scar',” Anathema said.</p>
<p>"Do they really? How cruel."</p>
<p>The inside of the gallery was, like many other galleries, a stark white. A very small gift shop of sorts, to his left, alongside a front desk. From what Aziraphale could tell the shop mostly contained artisan crafts, he saw a few pieces of jewelry he just knew Tracy would die for.</p>
<p>"Hey Uriel," Anathema said to the person at the desk.</p>
<p>They nodded back and went back to whatever they were doing on the computer.</p>
<p>"She doesn't talk much," Anathema whispered to Aziraphale as they entered the gallery proper.</p>
<p>She held out a small pamphlet to him, detailing some of the current, larger installation pieces and he took it with a cursory glance. He'd read it if and when he got to a piece he wanted more info on. He liked to experience the works with as little explanation or background knowledge as possible at first.</p>
<p>"First floor's all the larger pieces and installation stuff," Anathema said, "second floor is everything else."</p>
<p>"Do you know what's on the third floor?"</p>
<p>"Hmm, storage maybe? Although I think I remember Crowley talking about turning it into a student gallery, for the university."</p>
<p>"That's very kind of them."</p>
<p>"Crowley has a very...specific taste for things. And they know that often times students and the like that have similar aesthetics and styles, but haven't had the good fortune to be picked out by a professor or noticed by someone with clout, tend to disappear or get ignored. They like to give them a chance to display things here. Every so often, curators and collectors from all over visit here. It's not, y'know, the MET but Crowley knows people. And they use that as a way to get newer artists a chance."</p>
<p>"Are they an artist? A visual artist I mean, I know you mentioned dance."</p>
<p>"Not that I know of, at least they've never mentioned any forays. Huh, I should ask. Maybe they secretly crochet."</p>
<p>They continued making their way through the first floor, much larger than Aziraphale had assumed from the outside. It seemed this Crowley was a fan of the surreal and abstract. There was a sculpture that gave Aziraphale pause. A unicorn, twice his height, made out of some kind of metal, painted a matte black. It was designed to look like it was built of layers and layers. Over and over and around like bandages, almost. The horn was half unraveled, the metal curled and hanging down delicately, looking for all the world like it would bend to his touch. Beneath the part of the horn that had unraveled, was the hint of another horn, pure white. As he moved around the piece he realized there were words carved, or stamped, or however one went about etching letters into metal, all across the strips. They were quotes, from whom or what, he didn't know, but they were all different.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em><br/>"If I could go one day without crying, that'd be great."</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"tfw you thought, for a second, you could make it through 24 fucking hours withOUT screwing up but haha guess what"</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"just let me die already"</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"sure sex is great but have you ever had someone hold your hand when you didnt know how to ask for it? say its okay even after you've explained the sordid details of what IT is? Press a kiss to your temple and say I believe in you and know it's not just words?  Cool, me either"</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"i'm so fucking tired!! how can i be this tired when i don't do shit lol"</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>"I'm trying so hard, y'all. I promise."</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>And dozens and dozens more. It didn't seem like a single one was repeated. Aziraphale pulled out his little pamphlet and realized a photo of that exact piece was on the front. He glanced up at the art; the photo didn't do it justice. It was easy to read up on it without having to skim through a bunch of other descriptions on other pieces. Apparently the artist had gathered the quotes from various social media posts over the course of a year. They weren't solicited or fabricated. The artist merely took note of any post that happened to come across their feed, from friends they followed, from suggested posts, retweets and likes, anything that fit their theme.</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked back to the piece. It was heartbreaking to think so many posts just casually came across their path, so many cries for help shouted into the void. He circled the piece once more, focusing on the horn. It was so tall, he could barely see it, but he was almost certain there were words carved into the white. He stood on his tip toes and squinted. He thought, perhaps, it said "I believe in you." And, going down the other side of the horn, "I believe in me."</p>
<p>He looked down at the small placard by his foot.</p>
<p>The piece was called "Not Alone."</p>
<p>He could spend the rest of the evening studying that one installation alone, but he was curious, now more than ever, what the rest of the gallery held.</p>
<p>He wandered, taking in the smaller pieces, and decided to go upstairs. He could see the stairwell but the landing was around a corner and as he turned it he stopped short with a gasp. The stairs were to his right, but on the wall directly in front of him was another installation, a set of white wings coming out of the wall itself. They were huge. The wall beneath it had been painted a slate grey, to help the white of the wings stand out, he assumed. Scattered on the floor beneath them were loose feathers. Some were tinged red, others spattered with the color, some were black, burned on the edges. There was no rope or signage to keep people from stepping on them. It was far enough away from the stairs but the feathers weren’t attached to the ground. In fact, he looked a few feet over and saw one had floated a little ways away. He had an inexplicable urge to pick it up and return it to the others.</p>
<p>“Welcome to the gallery’s namesake,” Anathema said, coming up beside him. “This is the only permanent installation, it’s been here since Crowley opened.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Aziraphale tried to read the placard on the wall but couldn’t quite make it out without his glasses. “Who did it?”</p>
<p>“Dunno. I mean, it’s marked as anonymous but I’m sure Crowley knows.” She crossed her arms,  “I think it’s someone they met in school, or at least early on in their career. A friend that doesn’t want to be named, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Whyever not?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “The really interesting bit is that whoever the artist is, designed it in a way that some of the white feathers periodically fall out. There’s more on the floor than there were when the gallery opened.”</p>
<p>“So it’s...in a constant state of decay?”</p>
<p>“Not to get all,” she uncrossed her arms and wiggled her fingers, “but aren’t we all?”</p>
<p>“Well…”</p>
<p>“That’s part of Crowley’s whole thing. I'm sure you can tell they're a fan of the surreal and the abstract. I know you haven't made it upstairs yet but there's some impressionist stuff up there too. But one of the recurring themes they gravitate towards revolves around entropy and impermanence. I don't, I can't put it into the words the way they can but I know it's something about finding a sense of..." she blew out a puff of air, "solidness? In the chaos? Like feeling grounded in it not in spite of it but alongside it? ‘Calm in the disquiet.’ <em>Those </em>exact words are in the little,” she gestured at the pamphlet still in his hand, “that talks about them and the gallery.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale stared down at all the feathers on the floor. “Do you think acceptance is a factor? Not seeking so much as accepting eventual decay? Everything falls apart eventually.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Anathema said after a moment. “Probably. It’s funny, Crowley is one of the most out-going, happiest people I know. They’ve made a life for themselves, they travel whenever they want, they’re honestly, drop-dead gorgeous, and yet...I come into this gallery and sometimes I think there’s a part of them I’ve never met.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>They stood for a few more moments before Anathema let out a deep sigh, “Well, I was also looking for you. Newt got off early, thought we might meet for dinner.”</p>
<p>“Oh of course, go on, go on,” Aziraphale said. “I think I’m going to keep looking around.”</p>
<p>“I thought as much,” she said. “Text me later, tell me what you think of upstairs.”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>He listened to her footsteps recede, eyes still on the feathers. He wondered what stage was represented by each. By the ones with red, the ones that were black and burned, the white ones. Aziraphale glanced around, everyone else was in quiet conversations or on their phone. He walked over to the errant feather and gently picked it up. It was a white one. Softer than he thought it would be. He dropped it amongst the rest and then turned toward the stairs.</p>
<p>“Alright, Crowley,” he said as he put his hand on the banister and took a step, “tell me about yourself.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The ghost watched as the family clambered into their car. As the kids poked and jabbed at each other and ran around. A final box was crushed into the boot. The ghost turned away, it didn't want to see them drive off, it didn't want to watch them go. Instead it retreated back through the house, running fingertips gentle against the walls. It could leave, it knew that now. That was what the Spectre had said. There was nothing binding it to the house, to the physical plane of existence, nothing besides its own fear.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It didn't have to stay.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Didn't have to watch family after family come and go. Children grow, move out, move in again, gain love, lose it, marry and have their own kids. It didn't have to watch families mourn the deaths of their loved ones. It didn't have to watch them celebrate holidays and birthdays and graduations, so much laughter and joy radiating off of them it was sometimes hard to see through. It didn't have to hold so tightly onto the few friendships forged with people that could see it; it didn't have to hurt and rage and cry when they inevitably moved on.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It didn't have to hurt.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>The ghost wandered through the rooms. Decades and decades of memories washing through, flitting at corners, imprinted in the air. The Spectre had been unclear, in all of its lessons and education and derision, on what would happen if it left. The Spectre wouldn't say what came next. And that scared it. It'd spent so long living in the afterlife it developed all the same fears it had when it was alive. Afraid of what came next, what came after.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It found itself standing at the front door, staring at the steps. All it had to do was walk forward. Only a few steps. And it would be free, it would have moved on. There was an opportunity, a choice, options and the promise of something different.</em>
  </p>
  <p>312</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>But something different isn't always something good.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It sat in the doorway. So close to the promise of escape. It would stay, it decided. The pain it felt now was familiar. Less an agonizing burn and more a dull ache. Even when it was sharp, when it lanced through to the core of it, it'd be okay, it would keep going. It was better, it reasoned, to continue in the hurt it knew than to risk something worse. Something better wasn't guaranteed, after all.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It sat in the doorway. The steps weren't going anywhere. It could leave any time it wanted. Move forward and discover any moment. It wouldn't, it knew. The fears would only grow, the distance seem too great, and it would stay.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>It sat in the doorway, so close to something more, and waited. It waited and hoped it wouldn't be long before someone came along.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Before someone looked.</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>Before someone saw.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>313</p>
</blockquote><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Crowley stared at the final line. At the blank space between it and the final page number. It was blurry. They sniffled. Blinked. A tear landed on the page. They'd been rooting for the ghost. After so long of watching people come and go, of forming connections only to let them slip away, of hoping for something more, when presented with a chance it...it stayed. Crowley was so, so frustrated with the ending, with the ghost, and they tried to focus on that instead of the twist in their chest.</p><p>It only worsened when they looked up, took in their empty bedroom, the dark hall that would lead to a desolate living room, an austere kitchen, the only sign of life the blinking clock on the coffee maker, set for the morning. They thought of Anathema's text last week, offering to introduce them to someone, and their swift 'No thanks'. Of Tracy's heavy hinting at an artist friend, and the excuses they made to avoid it. They thought of what lay beneath all that, of what fueled it, of the fear.</p><p>They were afraid of that first meeting, the way the other person's eyes would track them up and down, take note of the make-up, of their wide shoulders and flat chest, of their heels, and while they did all that, Crowley felt suspended in a thick miasma of fear, of anxiety, of past reactions, passing comments, pointed rejections; they couldn't breathe. They could only stand there and watch and wait, a pained smile on their face that felt more like a grimace.</p><p>Sometimes it was alright after all. Sometimes it happened in a split second, a quick glance followed by a smile and an extended hand. Sometimes there was flirting right off the bat, charged little moments of fingers brushing, a hand on a knee, just briefly, and knowing gazes. Sometimes that led to nothing more than sex, enjoyable or otherwise, and the shuffle of clothes in the dark, feet on the threshold, the click of the front door. Sometimes it led to more. Dates. Coffees. Lunches, dinners, movies, birthdays, holiday trips, quiet nights at home, exciting nights on the town. It was nice and happy. Until it wasn't. Until boredom seeped in. It could hit either side, it wasn't a crime, it wasn't inherently cruel. It was perfect until the realization that whatever this is, it isn't <em> it </em>, it isn't long term, it isn't what would cool the ache in their chest.</p><p>It always ended. It never hurt any less. And that was what Crowley was so afraid of. Afraid to the point that they just wouldn't try, they couldn't. They'd rather stay in the hole they'd built and call it a castle. They'd rather meticulously tend to their walls that kept everything out and kept them in. They'd rather stay with the hurt they knew.</p><p>Crowley looked down at the book, closing it gently. They laid on their side, holding it to their chest, and let the tears come.</p><p>"Well," they said quietly, voice half muffled by the pillow, "that was a little rude, Aziraphale. Attacking me this way." They let out a weak chuckle.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>That Thursday they went back to Eden Books and went to see if anything new had been recommended. There was. They considered Dagon and Beelzebub but really they were there for Aziraphale. He must have been following a theme for the month, as the new book was another ghost story.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Now I don't often do horror, and this was very nearly too much for me, I must admit, but I simply can't get some of the imagery out of my head. (Much to my chagrin.) The prose is sparse, every word carefully chosen, to create some of the most unsettling atmospheres I've ever read. If horror is your cup of tea, this is the one that will keep you up at night. (Our nightlights can be found in the children's section, and I won’t say how I know but the one shaped like a star is the brightest.)</em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>As a reminder, we have a list of possible triggers for all of our books, please see an associate if you have any concerns at all!</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Crowley smiled at the card. Horror was very much their cup of tea. Or, coffee, probably. They wondered which Aziraphale preferred? They knew it was a turn of phrase but, well... they shook their head and turned over the book in their hands.</p><p>They went to the register, where someone who barely came up to their shoulders was standing and going over what looked like a purchase order.</p><p>"Sorry, quick question."</p><p>"Yeah?" they said without looking up. Crowley recognized their voice as the one who oh-so-enthusiastically offered help should they need it last week.</p><p>"The card said to see someone about a trigger list?"</p><p>They looked up, "Oh! Right. Uh..." Crowley wasn't sure why that was the question that got the associate more engaged and ready to help but they appreciated it all the same. "Shit," they muttered under their breath. "Sorry, Zira usually is here whenever someone asks."</p><p>"Zira?"</p><p>"Aziraphale, he's the," they gestured at the book in Crowley’s hands, eyes still scanning shelves beneath the counter.</p><p>"Ah. He uh, isn't...here today?" Crowley ventured. They weren't sure what they were hoping for. A yes meant they could meet this person, perhaps talk about the ghost book from last week, find out if it was tea or coffee. But a yes meant...meeting him and judging from the way Crowley's heart was making a valiant attempt to do flips that really ought to be left to hearts a few decades younger lest something was pulled, they thought maybe meeting him would be a bad idea.</p><p>"Nah," the person said, "not today. Oh here it is." They hefted a huge binder onto the counter, letter tabs going down the side, and flipped to the appropriate one.</p><p>"Surprised that's not on the computer," Crowley said absently.</p><p>"Believe me," the associate said, "we're trying. Zira prefers to write everything down."</p><p>When they found the appropriate listing, they turned the book toward Crowley and discretely found something else to do in the other direction so Crowley could read over the list. Nothing they couldn't handle.</p><p>"Thanks. I'm still going to get it. I appreciate that you have this."</p><p>"It was Aziraphale's idea. Man reads...so much. Just all the time. And we all agreed, it's a great idea, it helps so many people, no one else does anything remotely comparable...I just wish the blasted book wasn't so heavy."</p><p>Crowley snorted.</p><p>"Here you go."</p><p>"Thanks uh..." they looked for a nametag.</p><p>"Beelzebub. Or Bee. Zie/zir."</p><p>"Thanks Bee. Crowley, they/them. If this recommendation is anything like the last I have a feeling I'll be in here often."</p><p>"Wouldn't be the first."</p><p>They couldn't pinpoint why but that sent a little pang through them. Crowley pushed it away. The man was a bookseller, recommending books was part of his job, of course he would have regulars. These pangs were the beginnings of something worrisome, something Crowley refused to entertain and if they were smart, they 'd take their book and never look back.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley was many things and smart wasn't always up there.</p><p>Beelzebub gave a nod with a "hey' when they came in the following Thursday.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the next couple of weeks, Aziraphale went to the gallery after work on Fridays and Saturdays. With so little time between his store closing and the gallery closing, he found it best to go both days to really appreciate the art. He could have gone on one of his days off but...well it wasn't that he was <em> avoiding </em>the owner, he was sure he'd run into them eventually, but for now it was nice to look at the art and try to imagine what the curator was like. He had Anathema's description of them, happy and easy-going but oh, there was a sadness there, Aziraphale just knew it. How could anyone look at the pieces in the gallery and think otherwise?</p>
<p>He wondered what a gallery of his own might look like. What parts of his story would be told through a collection of art? He thought the piece he currently stood in front of would be in there, guaranteed. It was one of the larger installations, on the first floor. A canvas as tall as he was of bright colors, vivid and lively, that slowly dissolved into darkness. The bottom third of the canvas was pure black, speckles here and there. He wasn't sure how the artist did it, but it didn't look or feel as though the speckles of color were on the surface. No, it felt as though they were trying to push through the darkness, trying to shine through. Above the piece was a mirror, angled against the wall and ceiling, so that when he looked up, he saw the reverse. When he looked up he saw the darkness slowly overcoming everything bright and wonderful. He'd spent much of his time that evening thinking about that. About looking heavenward and seeing despair.</p>
<p>Yes, that piece for certain would be in there. Perhaps there would be ones that focused on books. Pages and words. He did rather like black out poetry. He imagined a piece that was pages and pages of it suspended from the ceiling. All blacked out to ask for help. For a hand, a shoulder, a caress.</p>
<p>He chuckled sadly. If he had the first idea where to start he'd make it. Maybe Crowley would put it in their gallery.</p>
<p>Aziraphale had the sudden image of his piece, pages in the air, turning this way and that with the faintest breeze, and below them feathers from the wing installation drifting by.</p>
<p>His phone vibrated rather insistently in his pocket and he jumped. It was a Saturday night and so the gallery had more visitors than usual, couples coming in before and after dates. He wondered if that was why Crowley avoided coming in on those two days. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, making his way to the entrance.</p>
<p>"Hello, Anathema," he whispered.</p>
<p>"Aziraphale? Why are you whispering?"</p>
<p>He stepped outside and onto the busy street. Anathema had been right, there were a lot of restaurants in the area and they all seemed to come alive on weekends. "I was in the gallery," he said.</p>
<p>"Again?"</p>
<p>"I like it there. I find there's always something new to discover, no matter how many times I've seen a piece."</p>
<p>"I'll be sure to let Crowley know they've got a regular. I could introduce you two, you know."</p>
<p>"Oh," he said, his chest doing an odd bit of tap-dance at the thought of meeting this person, "no need, I-I don't want to bother them."</p>
<p>"If you're sure..."</p>
<p>He wasn't, was the thing. He had been, a few weeks ago, when they first visited Fallen. Then, he hadn't had any interest in meeting the owner but now, now he'd had time to build them up in his head a bit. Create this character based solely on the contents of that building and he was just a little bit curious if he'd had any accuracy in doing so. And, if he perhaps felt a bit of a kinship with this person, with whatever sadness drew them to such pieces, well there wasn't any harm in that really.</p>
<p>"I'm sure," he said. "Anyway, why were you calling?"</p>
<p>"Right, how do you feel about bonfires?"</p>
<p>"Oh! Absolutely wonderful! I'll admit I'm not a fan of the smoke smell permeating all my clothes, I often run a wash right as I get home, but the warmth of the fire, and the company, and of course s'mores. This weather is perfect for it, too!"</p>
<p>"Great! How do you feel about raves?"</p>
<p>"Abou--what?"</p>
<p>"Raves."</p>
<p>Aziraphale squinted as he pictured small, dark rooms with too-loud music. Sweaty, half-dressed bodies and the only shred of light being whatever glowing thing was getting waved around. "The exact inverse, my dear."</p>
<p>"Great! They'll balance out then."</p>
<p>"What? Whatever are you going on about?"</p>
<p>"A friend of a friend is having a rave complete with bonfire for Halloween and I thought I'd invite you."</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked up and realized he was nearing the bookshop. He peered in the windows nervously, just to be sure nothing was left amiss, and gave the front door a tentative tug. "Oh, I-I don't know about that."</p>
<p>"It might help that it's a silent rave."</p>
<p>He frowned as he settled in at the bus stop, his mental image of the rave adjusting. "How...does that work, exactly?"</p>
<p>"Ok so, everyone gets a pair of headphones. Different colors correspond to different music being played. You pick, put it on, dance."</p>
<p>"But...well that's not silent is it?"</p>
<p>"It is to the outside. Anyone walking by would hear mostly the bonfire and some laughter."</p>
<p>"Well that is rather inventive. I imagine it lessens the odds of getting in trouble for noise."</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>"Still, though, I don't think, well, do <em> you </em> really think there will be any music there I'd like to hear? Much less dance to?"</p>
<p>"Not really, no. But what do you have to lose, Az? It's this, or stay home and give candy out to trick or treaters."</p>
<p>"I <em> like </em> doing that. Besides, I have a bit of a reputation for giving the <em> good </em>candy."</p>
<p>She laughed, "Of course you do. Look, it doesn't start till eight, most of the trick or treaters are done by then, you can play your friendly neighborhood grandpa routine--”</p>
<p>“Hey!”</p>
<p>“And then come out to party.”</p>
<p>He fiddled with the buttons on his jacket.</p>
<p>"At the worst, the <em> absolute worst, </em> Aziraphale, you go, you put on a pair of headphones, decide it's very much not for you and go home with enough time to read a few chapters before bed. No harm done and you get to try something new."</p>
<p>"I do suppose that's true. Is it very far?"</p>
<p>"Short drive, I'll pick you up."</p>
<p>"Oh but then, <em> oooh </em> ," he said as though he'd solved a particularly troubling mystery, "but then I'd have to interrupt <em> your </em>partying to get you to bring me home and you know I'd be hesitant to do that."</p>
<p>"Would you? Nooooo."</p>
<p>"And so I'd be stuck there. That's very sneaky, Anathema."</p>
<p>"Sneaky is my middle name. And no I wouldn't force you to stay if you really weren't enjoying yourself. Either me or Newt would give you a ride."</p>
<p>"Newt's going to go?"</p>
<p>"Uh-huh. You'll have a wallflower buddy."</p>
<p>"Hmm. It's Halloween night?"</p>
<p>"Yup, it's a Wednesday, which is ideal."</p>
<p>"Really? Why?"</p>
<p>"Because you have the next day off you dunce."</p>
<p>"Oh! Right. I, I guess I thought you meant--"</p>
<p>"That Wednesdays are the ideal days for Halloween in general?"</p>
<p>"Well--"</p>
<p>"No that's Christmas. Christmas should always be on a Wednesday."</p>
<p>"Oh. Why's that?"</p>
<p>"Just feels right."</p>
<p>"I see."</p>
<p>"Look I'm not going to ask you to make a decision right now, over the phone, I know that's in your top, like, ten fears."</p>
<p>He smiled at that. Despite her teasing tone, it was incredibly warming to know she knew him so well. "Top five if I'm being honest."</p>
<p>"Exactly. You've got all week to think about it, ok?"</p>
<p>"Alright, my dear I--oh! My bus is here, I'll talk to you soon."</p>
<p>"Kloveyoubye."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale chuckled as the call disconnected. Anathema <em> did </em> have a point. It would be nice to try something new. He'd be fifty in just a couple of years and there were many things he'd never done that he wanted to. Many of which he may never get a chance to. Sure, this silent rave wasn't on the list, hadn't <em> ever </em> been on the list but, it could be fun. At the very least it would be an Experience. He got so few of those, choosing instead to live vicariously through his books.</p>
<p>He pulled up his messages before he could think twice about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I'll go. <b>[7:23pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[7:23pm] </b>Whoa, really? fr fr?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>He squinted at the screen. What did 'frah frah' mean? Maybe it was one of those strings of unintelligible letters she sometimes sent. She really ought to look into getting a new phone if it was just going to garble her messages.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Yes really. You're right, it would be something new. <b>[7:25pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[7:25pm] </b>Damn.<br/>
<b>[7:25pm] </b>I had two more arguments prepared to convince you</p>
  <p>I suppose you can save them for next time, should you decide to invite me to a mosh pit or something. <b>[7:26pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>There were a few minutes before her response and when he looked it was simply a picture of their conversation.  She really needed a new phone and he had begun to type as much when another message came in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[7:29pm] </b>Receipt</p>
  <p>Receipt for what? <b>[7:30pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[7:31pm]</b> That you want to do a mosh pit next<br/>
<b>[7:31pm]</b> No take-backs!</p>
  <p>Oh for heaven's sake. <b>[7:31pm]</b></p>
  <p>
    <b>[7:32pm]</b>
    <span class="x1F61C"><span class="hide">(Face With Stuck-Out Tongue And Winking Eye )</span></span> <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span> <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were many coffee spots near the gallery. A certain franchise could be found every half a dozen blocks as well as the many independent shops. It was one of the latter that Crowley often went to for their lunch breaks. Or before work. Or during work when they were bored. Any reason really to stretch their legs. They'd gotten it down to a science, when all the rushes were, the best times to sneak in, grab their drink, and sneak out before it got too hectic again.</p><p>They pushed open the door and grinned to see their favorite barista behind the bar.</p><p>"Hey there, Eric."</p><p>"Crowley! Guess what? I was thinking," he leaned on the counter, "like all weekend, and I realized <em> nothing </em>rhymes with your name."</p><p>They took off their sunglasses and thought about that. "Well, cannoli?"</p><p>"Oh. Huh."</p><p>"Ravioli?"</p><p>"No, yeah...."</p><p>"I...I mean <em> holy </em>?"</p><p>"Damn," Eric stood upright again, staring off at a distant spot on the counter. "I was so sure."</p><p>"You spent <em> all weekend </em> thinking on that? Didn't...I don't know, think to crack open the Googles?"</p><p>"That's what my girlfriend said."</p><p>"I love you, Eric. Never ever change."</p><p>"Usual?"</p><p>Crowley was already swiping their phone across the scanner to pay, "You know it."</p><p>While they waited, they scrolled through their email, double checked their appointments for the next two weeks, and staunchly, decidedly, did not think about the book on their night stand.</p><p>They'd discovered they would have to leave whatever new book they got at Aziraphale's recommendation at home otherwise they would just sit there and read it all day. Granted there wasn't much else to do, they had a few people express interest in some of the paintings on the second floor, there were the meetings with the University but, all in all Crowley had a lot of free time on their hands. Free time they were beginning to fill with reading Aziraphale's books. </p><p>Luckily, it turned out the man read <em> voraciously </em>. Crowley finished the third book in as many weeks almost overnight and had gone back to the shop that Monday, expecting to grab one of Beelzebub's recommendations (they had read that collection of essays and enjoyed it), but sure enough there was a new book in Aziraphale's spot.</p><p>Later, they went to the stationary store Anathema worked part-time at and bought some of those colorful tabs to mark passages. They spent that weekend re-reading the first few books and taking note of certain sections. It wasn't long before they had to go back and buy more.</p><p>The problem, however, with not having the book of the hour on hand, and not thinking about the book, meant they thought about the Bookseller. They thought about his careful, perfect cursive. They thought about how he seemed very fond of genre fiction. They still wondered if it was tea or coffee, although they were almost certain it was tea. Worst of all, the thought about how if they went in on any other day besides Thursday, they might meet him. That one Monday they'd gone in he wasn't there either but there was no telling if that was a normal day off, as they suspected Thursdays were, or something else.</p><p>Still, that left five other whole days Crowley could simply walk in and possibly meet him. Unless, his brain supplied, he only worked one or two days of the week. Then it was much more of a guessing game.</p><p>"Two decaf vanilla lattes for Ravioli!"</p><p>Crowley snorted at Eric, taking their drinks, thankful for the yank out of their thoughts. They were doing it again. Trying to figure out what days he had off? Hoping to pop in on a day he was there but also terrified of it? One particular lie in on a Sunday morning, they'd thought about going in, maybe they'd get some coffee on the way, maybe a cup of hot water and some tea bags, couldn't hurt, right? And there he would be, writing the next card for his next recommendation and there Crowley would be with a cup of water-ready-to-be-tea and by the time their mind had devolved into blushing exchanging of numbers they'd thrown their pillow across the room.</p><p>It'd been a long time since their mind had abandoned ship and left their heart in charge. They needed a distraction and the books were doing more damage than good. They kept reading a passage and wondering what Aziraphale had thought of it, if that line had struck him the way it had them?</p><p>With a groan Crowley smacked their phone against their forehead and pushed open the door to the gallery.</p><p>Uriel stood up, reaching for her drink. "Did you remember no foam?"</p><p>"Uh."</p><p>"You always forget to say no foam."</p><p>"In my defense..."</p><p>When they didn’t continue she raised an eyebrow. "People usually follow that up with a defense, Crowley."</p><p>"I'm very attractive?"</p><p>"Hmmmnooooo."</p><p>"What? I am!"</p><p>Uriel took her seat once more, "You know what's attractive? Remembering to say 'no foam'."</p><p>"Oi, pay for your own next time then. Ungrateful s'what you are."</p><p>"Mhm. You're 3pm canceled."</p><p>"What nooo. Really? Fuck." How were they supposed to fill their afternoon now and continue to not think about the book or the Bookseller? </p><p>"Crowley there's people inside. They can hear you."</p><p>"Can not."</p><p>"Can too," Anathema's voice echoed from within.</p><p>"Uriel. I thought you said 'people'. That's a bog witch."</p><p>"Yeah but," Uriel leaned forward, "she’s an <em> attractive </em>bog witch. Maybe you should ask for notes?"</p><p>Crowley let out a scandalized gasp, a hand to their chest. "I'm wounded. You've wounded me." They made it a few steps into the gallery before turning back around leaning around the half wall that separated the front desk from the rest of the gallery. "Wait, attractive? We're coming back to that later."</p><p>"We are not. Good-bye."</p><p>If there were people in the gallery, they must've all been up stairs; the only person on the first floor was Anathema. She sat on a low bench, looking up one of the larger paintings. Most of the two dimensional work was upstairs but Crowley had felt this one belonged with the installations. It was probably the achromatic color scheme. Everything on the first floor was in blacks and greys, and then there were the wings. Upstairs was where the color was.</p><p>"Hey you," they said as they sat beside her. If everyone was upstairs they weren't going to be able to sneak into their office like they were prone to.</p><p>"Hnn."</p><p>"Uh oh. What's wrong?"</p><p>Anathema let out a dramatic sigh and flopped her head onto their shoulder. "I'm having an existential crisis."</p><p>"You're what? Thirty-two?" They took a sip of their coffee, "That sounds about right."</p><p>"Ha-ha. I'm serious. I don't know what I'm-I'm <em> doing </em>. I don't want to stay at Tracy's forever. Newt's really enjoying tutoring those kids, he's thinking of going back to school to get some official training."</p><p>"That's great."</p><p>"It <em> is </em> and I'm happy for him but what the <em> fuck </em> am I doing with <em> my </em> life?"</p><p>"This may seem like an obvious question but, what do you<em> want </em> to do?"</p><p>She kicked out her feet, wiggling them in an approximation of a tantrum while still managing to keep her head on their shoulder. "I don't knoooooow."</p><p>"Well you've got your nose and fingers in all sorts of art scenes, there's nothing you want to try?"</p><p>"Not really. I like experiencing it and looking but I don't particularly want to get up and paint something y'know? I really like showing things to you and to my other friends and putting things on their radar, that's about as far as it goes. I like to observe. And observe other people observing. You know I have a friend that's come here every Saturday night for the past like, three weeks? He loves it."</p><p>Crowley felt a swell of pride at that but decided to focus on the matter at hand. They leaned forward to try and look at Anathema's face and she tilted her head back to look up at them. They stared at her.</p><p>"What?" she finally asked.</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>She sat up, "What?"</p><p>"Have you...considered...?" They gestured vaguely around them. When Anathema only stared back they sighed, "What about your <em> own </em> gallery? I've always thought you had a good eye and would make a great curator."</p><p>"Me? No, I, nu-uh, I don't have the, the connections, or the training, or the experience. You worked for ages--”</p><p>"Not <em> ages </em>."</p><p>"--in other galleries, for private collectors, I'd ...no."</p><p>"But...you have considered it?"</p><p>"Considered and summarily dismissed. So. There's that.” She drummed her fingers against her legs. “You know what, in fact, I'm just going to go home and have some coffee, and do a reading and go from there."</p><p>"Hmm," Crowley said, taking another sip of their coffee. They knew Anathema would never accept an offer for Crowley to help pay to get her own gallery off the ground, no matter how much she may want to, and she’d never ask. Crowley wasn’t quite prepared to let it drop but would give Anathema some time before pushing. </p><p>She stood and stretched, "Oh before I forget, the actual reason I came by before everything in here made me question all my life choices--"</p><p>"As it's meant to."</p><p>"--is I know someone that’s having a thing for Halloween. Silent rave bonfire out over in Tad's Field. You know where we saw that play that one time? Wanna go?"</p><p>They squinted at her, "And it's for Halloween? There won't be any sneaky parts geared towards a certain event happening ten days later?"</p><p>Anathema blinked, face carefully neutral.</p><p>"I know you know."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"And I know you know what number it is."</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"Anathema--"</p><p>"There will be no birthday surprises. I promise." Their eyebrow quirked and she laughed. "It's <em> just </em>a Halloween thing. Not everything is about you, Anthony Jane Crowley."</p><p>"If you promise--"</p><p>"I <em> promise </em>. Cross my heart, hope to die, 'cause the world's a burning lie."</p><p>"And you say you're not an artist,” they said with an exaggerated pout. “Alright, I'll be there. Haven't been to something like that in..."</p><p>"Ages?”</p><p>"Oi," they kicked halfheartedly at her shin.</p><p>Anathema dodged with ease and headed for the entrance. "You want me to pick you up? I’m grabbing someone else anyway, it's no problem."</p><p>"Nah," they called after her, "drive'll be good. "</p><p>"Kloveyoubye."</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Crowley spent the rest of the day trying not to think about the book or the Bookseller to varying degrees of success. They managed to catch up on all of their reading on various art and architecture magazines, a few articles they'd had bookmarked, and they cleared out a fair portion of their browser tabs on their laptop.</p><p>Then they thought about what Aziraphale's first post-halloween recommendation would be. Would he go for something atmospheric that felt like fall? Or would he go for something unexpected? Crowley wondered if one day there'd be a graphic novel up there and then they wondered what kind Aziraphale would be drawn to and then they groaned and set about clearing out their inbox of spam.</p><p>By the time 7pm rolled around and Uriel knocked on their door to let them know she was heading out, Crowley was ready to give up.</p><p>"Just lock up behind you, I'm going to close early."</p><p>If she made a face or anything, they had no idea as they sat slouched in their chair, eyes on the ceiling. When they heard the entrance lock, they gathered their jacket and bag, turned off the office light and headed out, turning off display lights as they went until they reached the stairs, where they descended about halfway and then sat down.</p><p>There was something about sitting in stairwells that had always appealed to Crowley. It felt oddly comforting. The narrow space just close enough to feel protective and not like a cage. Crowley rested their head on the banister, crossing their arms against their chest and pulling their knees up. They were reminded, suddenly, of that first book. Of the ghost as it sat on the edge of something more and chose stagnation. Is that what they were doing?</p><p>Crowley could feel the hurt welling up, the tears threatening. No. They pushed up off the steps, gathering their belongings, heading down to the landing. They had a routine, they had a method, and it worked. It <em> worked </em> . It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't what they used to dream of, there were no fairy lights or candles or moonlit walks but it <em> worked </em> . And they didn't hurt, they hadn't been hurt in so long and now they were on the edge of ruining all that for what? A Bookseller they would never meet? Crowley ran their hand across the wings, burying their fingers in, feeling the softness of the feathers. They were going to go to this party, and they were going to consume candy and alcohol and dance and decidedly <em> not think. </em> Then they were going to go to New York for their birthday and go shopping. And they were not going to fall into this trap.</p><p>With a yank, Crowley ripped free one of the white feathers. They stared down at it, trying to imbue it with all of their foolish fantasies, with every beat their heart skipped when they went into the bookshop, with the twist in their chest, that agonizing twist of hope, and the scream at the back of their throat. They put it all into that bit of white fluff, straightened their back, and let it go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>things are officially HAPPENING &gt;:3c<br/>Also you can find me on <a href="https://kreauxlighe.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags and character list has been updated!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale <em> liked </em> Halloween. He liked pumpkins and little cotton ball ghosts. Covering various displays in fake cobwebs, giving out candy, and the costumes! He liked seeing all the clever costumes people came up with, the myriad princesses and fairies and that one blue ice queen, rangers with various powers, batmen and spidermen and supermen and ironmen and...birdmen, probably, he didn't really know. There were a lot of babies in strollers dressed as white balls with a pattern of orange circles, he wasn't sure what that was about. All sorts of plastic light-up swords. He'd had to stop two children from dueling in the middle of the store when one of them put up a hand and said "We're not the children you're looking for" and Aziraphale was so thrown he genuinely questioned for a moment if he was supposed to be looking for someone? Was someone lost in the store? Luckily their guardians whisked them away soon enough.</p><p>He popped a chocolate in his mouth with a bit of a bounce. The day had been good. Plenty of visitors, which was always nice, whatever was left of Beelzebub's "Spectacular Spoops" display got fairly cleaned out, and Aziraphale still had a few hours before the...the Event. Every time he remembered he had agreed to go to this party he felt a twinge of dread flair in his chest. He'd been able to distract himself from it with various tasks but the sun was setting and it was getting harder to ignore. He snuck a glance at his phone, he still had an hour left. And some time even after that before eight.</p><p>No need to panic just yet.</p><p>He looked up as he slipped his phone in his pocket and nearly had a heart attack, his phone clattering to the floor. Standing in the doorway to the shop was a tall figure clad entirely in black, even their face seemed to disappear into nothingness, except for around their eyes and mouth which were a ghostly white color. They grinned slowly and crouched down to enter the store without knocking off their top hat.</p><p>Aziraphale darted into the nearest aisle, "Bee! Bee!"</p><p>"What? <em> What </em>?"</p><p>"Th-there's a th-so-"</p><p>Beelzebeb peered around the bookcase. "Babadook! Nice."</p><p>He heard the tell-tale sign of candy being rifled out of the bowl and then the front door closing.</p><p>"What," Aziraphale hissed in a low whisper, "in heaven's name is a Babadook?"</p><p>"Physical manifestation of grief and trauma that--"</p><p>"It's a <em> movie </em>," Dagon said as she passed between them. "It's not real, Azi. Jesus, Bee."</p><p>"What, he asked!"</p><p>"Oh goodness,” Aziraphale said, his heart rate slowly approaching normal once more. “How awful."</p><p>"You'd like it, Zira. Once you got past all the being scared shitless bits."</p><p>"Bee!"</p><p>"We're empty! And you'd like it. The core of it, you'd like it."</p><p>"Well, I suppose I shall have to find a review somewhere." He retrieved his phone from the floor, grateful to see it hadn't cracked. It occurred to him if this Babadook had been an actual intruder with ill-will he would've dropped his phone on the floor before running to hide!  How reckless. Then again, if the Babadook <em> was </em> real who would he call?</p><p>Aziraphale's mind instantly provided "ghostbusters" and he chuckled, already feeling lighter. That song was one of his favorites for the Halloween season. Beelzebub informed him once that it was a <em> theme </em> song, and thus attached to a movie about <em> ghosts </em> , and therefore <em> scary </em>, but he chose to ignore that part of it.</p><p>That last hour went by seemingly too fast, as did the bus ride home. Before he knew it he was sitting on the edge of his couch, trying and failing to read. He was being ridiculous, he still had an hour and a half left but he couldn't <em> focus </em>. All he could think about was that hour and a half.</p><p>Hour and less than a half now.</p><p>He'd not done much for his costume as he hadn't been planning on going anywhere until Anathema asked, and even a week out didn't feel like enough time to put together something proper. Instead he'd gone with a pair of plastic, bedazzled devil horns. He had a red bowtie sitting around that he almost never wore and so wasn't too put out when Tracy suggested bedazzling that as well. (He'd left the actual task of bedazzlement to her, as he had no idea where to even start.)</p><p>He checked his phone.</p><p>7:12pm.</p><p>WIth a heavy sigh he went to make himself some tea, thinking about watched pots and all that.</p><p>Aziraphale had just managed to calm down enough to read a little around 7:35, which gave him approximately ten minutes of relaxation before the anxiety kicked right back in. By 7:55 he was standing in his living room, holding a lightweight jacket and panicking that he hadn't put on enough deodorant. He put his jacket on, took it off. He'd gone with short sleeves, anticipating the bonfire to be quite warm. He likely wouldn't need the jacket until the drive home. He checked the time.</p><p>8:05pm.</p><p>Anathema was running a bit late. That was alright, she was doing him the favor of driving after all.</p><p>He put the jacket back on. Checked to make sure the stove was off. Faucets weren’t dripping. The nightlight in the hall was plugged in.</p><p>8:11pm.</p><p>Aziraphale opened his messages.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Hello my dear! Is the event still happening tonight? <b>[8:12pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>He almost hoped she would say no, that it'd been canceled due to an unforeseen apocalypse and it was now raining fish, so sorry. It wasn't that he didn't want to go. It was that going meant he would then be there. And it wasn't that he didn't want to be there, it was that being there meant he had to Be There. Engage and not just quietly observe. He might be expected to dance. Or worse...socialize.</p><p>His phone vibrated in his hand and he jumped.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[8:13pm] </b>Yeah!</p>
</blockquote><p>"Oh..." his shoulders sank.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[8:14pm] </b> oh crap, you thought I was picking you up right at 8, sorry I should've been more specific<br/>
<b>[8:14pm] </b> we don't want to get there right at 8, it'll be near empty and boring and you really will want to leave.<br/>
<b>[8:14pm] </b>I'm coming for you at 9.</p>
</blockquote><p>Aziraphale stared at the time stamp. Wonderful. He could spend the next forty minutes doing an encore performance. He went to make another cup of tea.</p><p> </p><p>At exactly nine he got a text from Anathema announcing she was out front. He did one last round of the apartment and headed out. When he got outside he took note of a young woman leaning against her car parked out front, a few people in costumes coming and going, but no Anathema.</p><p>He double checked his phone.</p><p>“Az!"</p><p>It was the woman by the car. Had Anathema sent someone to--oh dear god it <em> was </em> her. The realization must have been plain and exaggerated on his face because she bent over in laughter. Cautiously, Aziraphale took a step forward, fully processing her costume.</p><p>She'd done something to her hair so that it was bone straight, and she wore it in a high ponytail, no wild loose strands, frizz, or poof. Her usual large, round glasses had been switched out for a sensible pair of rectangle ones with tortoiseshell sides. She wore a simple white collar shirt tucked into a pair of slacks with a front pleat sharp enough to cut. Respectable shoes with a square heel, maybe two inches off the ground. Even her jewelry was sparse, a simple pair of earrings. A lone pendant necklace.</p><p>"What....<em> are </em> you?" Aziraphale asked, the horror plain in his voice.</p><p>"Oh me? I'm just an average Business Professional."</p><p>"Dear <em> god </em>."</p><p>"I know, it's terrifying on me isn't it?"</p><p>Aziraphale opened the door to the back, "You're now one of the top three terrifying things I've seen today."</p><p>"What were the other two?"</p><p>"Something called a Babadook."</p><p>"Ooo, and the third?"</p><p>"I'll let you know when we arrive, I'm certain there will be something to scar me further."</p><p>He slipped into the car, Newt offering a quiet 'hullo' , and they were off.</p><p> </p><p>The drive was pleasant enough, the three of them talking , Azirpahale taking in the scenery as it went by. It only took about twenty minutes and then they were turning down a barely-there road surrounded by trees. Aziraphale tried not to focus on how dark it was, how foreboding. He was about to ask if Anathema was sure they were going in the right direction when he saw the first hints of light from the fire. She pulled a little ways off the path and they clambered out. Aziraphale made the last minute decision to leave his jacket in the car and hoped he wouldn't regret it later.</p><p>Ahead of them the fire roared, licking at the sky, while at least a hundred people encircled it, dancing and laughing. It was so strange. Aziraphale could hear the fire, laughter, the sporadic shout, but overall it was eerily silent for the amount of people that were gathered.</p><p>They stopped near the outskirts and Aziraphale already felt a bit overwhelmed. But he refused to give up without giving an honest go of it. He could manage an hour, surely? And if, by then, he hadn't managed to meet someone, somewhere in this mess he felt inclined to talk to, he could ask to go home.</p><p>“Greasy J is set up on the other side," said Anathema. "I'll grab us all some headphones and a drink, you want something Az?"</p><p>"Oh yes, please."</p><p>"You know,” said Newt as Anathema disappeared past the crowd, “we had a bet on whether or not you'd actually come.”</p><p>"Really? What side were you on?"</p><p>He made an apologetic face, "I didn't think you'd come."</p><p>"That's fair, dear boy. If I'll be honest I'm already quite nervous. I was surprised to hear you were coming as well."</p><p>"Never been to one," he said with a shrug. "Now I have."</p><p>Aziraphale wished he could tackle New Things with that level of nonchalance.</p><p>Now that they were out of the car he fully took in Newt's costume. It looked similar to Anathema's in that he wore a pair of black slacks, a white shirt and a red tie. When Newt noticed Aziraphale's frown he pulled his open jacket aside a bit to reveal a red nametag. As if that explained anything at all. Aziraphale’s gaze trailed down to his breast pocket where a bit of ink stained the bottom seam.</p><p>"Oh," he said, "you've got red on you."</p><p>Newt was still laughing when Anathema returned with three pairs of headphones and handed Aziraphale the one with blue lights. "This is the closest to what I thought you might be willing to tolerate. And here," she juggled her items a bit then held out a can to him.</p><p>"Oh, you know I'm not much for beer."</p><p>"I know. It's wine."</p><p>"In a <em> can </em>?"</p><p>Newt snorted, "There's your third terrifying thing, Mr. Fell."</p><p>"It seems so."</p><p>"Alright," said Anathema. "My phone's set to vibrate, which I will one hundred percent feel because these pants are just way too close to my skin."</p><p>"I think they look good," Newt said with a small smile, settling his headphones.</p><p>Oh dear, in all his nerves about being surrounded by people and strangers, he'd manage to forget he was the third wheel with the people he <em> did </em> know.</p><p>"Oh. Well. Still," she turned to Aziraphale with color in her cheeks, "as soon as you decide you want to go, just text me. Either me or Newt, or both of us if we're gonna head out too will give you a ride back. Oh and here," she pointed to a couple of small buttons on the side of the headphones, "this controls the volume."</p><p>"Ah. Wonderful."</p><p>"All set?"</p><p>"Yes, yes, my dear. Go, mingle with your friends dressed as…” he surveyed the crowd, “various sexy appliances. I've managed this long on the earth, I think I can handle an hour or so without supervision."</p><p>Anathema set her headphones on, gave Aziraphale a reassuring squeeze on his arm and headed off, Newt following behind.</p><p>He looked down at the can in his hand. Canned wine, goodness. Still, the night was about having an experience and so… he cracked it open and took a tentative sip.</p><p>He could safely say that was an experience he didn’t want to repeat.</p><p> </p><p>Just over an hour later Aziraphale was finished with his first can and halfway through his second and who knew how many turns around the bonfire. People seemed to suddenly appear between one moment and the next. The crowd was constantly expanding. He could barely turn around twice without bumping into someone. The costumes <em> were </em> fun though. He couldn’t say if he thought it wise to be dressed to the nines in all sorts of layers and capes and tails while drinking and dancing around a literal pillar of fire but, well.</p><p>The music had been intolerable and he gave up shortly after they arrived, opting instead to just carry the headphones around and listen to the disjointed laughter. It hadn’t been awful, all things considered, but he did think he was fairly people-watched out. He sent Anathema a quick text.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Hello my dear. If it’s not too much trouble I do think I’m ready to head back home now. <strong>[</strong><b>10:32pm]</b>.</p>
</blockquote><p>He put his phone away and deposited his can in the nearest bin. Aziraphale figured it would be at least several minutes before she saw his message. He could circle the fire once or twice more. See if he missed any fun costumes.</p><p>A flash of red passed in his peripheral vision and was gone just as fast. Aziraphale blinked, trying to figure out what had gone past when he spotted it again, on the edge of the main group, disappearing around the bend. It was someone's costume, no doubt, but he was curious what it was and why it was moving that way. He scurried around the edge, muttering 'excuse me's and 'oh, pardon's that no one could hear. There, just there, another flash of it but it was much lower to the ground now.</p><p>"What the devil...?"</p><p>Aziraphale pushed through a small huddle of bodies, nearly tripping over someone's literal clown shoes, and found himself on the other side of the gathering. A few people here or there, a handful of couples looking at phones or dancing together and--oh--just there. Some ways away was someone dancing alone. They seemed to have just finished a spin, their red hair flying out and falling about them in gentle waves. It was long, falling to mid-back, catching the firelight so that it looked aflame itself. They stood still, arms wrapped around themself, head tilted down and eyes closed serenely. They wore a pair of headphones, one of the ones with the green lights. He had no idea what they were listening to.</p><p>Then they moved and Aziraphale's breath left him.</p><p>Their movements were so fluid and careful, the gentle sweep of an arm or the curve of their back as they leaned forward, and then they were nothing but straight lines, angles and jerky start-and-stop motions. They kicked a leg out and Aziraphale realized they were barefoot. And that their skirt had a split up the side. He watched as they sank to the ground before rising up again, the movement repeated again and again, an increasing sense of desperation in it. Then they dropped to the ground completely with such a sense of force that Aziraphale gasped, his hand lifting to reach out instinctively. They weren't still for long, their body one more liquid as they curled in and rolled, long legs outstretched and then just as suddenly they were flat against the ground again. As though some invisible force had pushed them back down.</p><p>They did it again and again, different attempts to stand upright, to reach up, their broad chest heaving with the effort of it, the muscles in their arms tight as they pushed and pulled and fought. There was grass in their hair, dirt on their shoulders, and then they were up.  A calculated stumble, a crouch, then up once again. For a few moments they were free, spinning and jumping, hair wild, the fabrics of their skirt and loose blouse flowing easily with every movement. It was wonderful, he was entranced.</p><p>In a flurry of movement they were on the ground once more.</p><p>"No," Aziraphale whimpered.</p><p>He watched as they kicked long legs out at an invisible enemy, as they rolled and tumbled and pushed and he wanted to do something, he wanted to help, he wanted this story to have a happy ending. A careful tangle of limbs and a spin later and suddenly this person was crouched in front of him.</p><p>They looked up, shock and a bit of fear, plain on their face. Aziraphale didn't know what to do, what to say. He just stood there as they slowly pushed to their feet, as they stood. They were taller than him, just a bit, just enough for him to have to shift from looking down to looking up at them. Their face was lit with the fire behind him. Oranges and yellow dancing across what he could see now was someone perhaps his age. Laugh lines at the corner of their eyes, around their mouth. Bright honey brown eyes lined in dark eyeliner, a hint of lipstick, a bit of stubble, god he'd never seen someone so beautiful in his entire life, he couldn't look away.</p><p>A breath, a blink, and whatever spell seemed to be holding them both frozen in place broke. The stranger, the dancer, this literal siren blinked a few times and then their gaze lowered, taking in Aziraphale.</p><p>Just like that he felt the weight of reality crash over him. Aziraphale's gaze dropped down to the headphones in his hands, his grip tight. He knew what he looked like, what people saw. His mind provided him a sped up movie reel of the disappointed look on every blind date's face when they realized <em> this </em> was what they were being offered. He couldn't do it, he couldn't bear to see that look of, at best, amusement, and at worst, out right disgust on this person's face. He could spare himself that, at least.</p><p>Without looking up he turned and sped off, moving directly into the crowd, pushing between bodies. The occasional laugh suddenly felt twisted and cruel, directed at him. He couldn't stand it. He let out an audible sob of joy when he came out the other side and could see a figure standing by Anathema's car. He shoved his headphones in the hands of the nearest body, a sexy unicorn by the looks of it, and went straight for the car.</p><p>Newt looked up from his phone at the sound of his approach. "Hey Mr. Fe....Mr. Fell? Are you alright?"</p><p>"Yes, I--" His voice came out cracked and he had to swallow, "I'd like to go now, please." He didn't wait for a response before pulling at the passenger side door, thankful it was open.</p><p>It took several shaking fumbles of his hands to get the seat belt to cooperate, Newt silent and ready at his side. When the click of the lock rang out, Newt started to back out of the tree lined path.</p><p>Aziraphale focused on taking small, measured breaths. It had taken them twenty minutes to get to the party and that was at the height of the night, amidst traffic and other party goers. He wasn't out late anymore but he assumed most would either be in bed or still partying. He hoped it wouldn't take longer than fifteen minutes to be in front of his building. He could stay the tears for fifteen minutes.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Updates will be happening once a week from now on, every Wednesday! &lt;3 This is one of my favorite chapters with some scenes I've been really looking forward to writing, I hope y'all like it :D</p>
<p>edit: the art in this chapter is a piece I commissioned from <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lonicera.caprifolium/">lonicera.caprifolium on Instagram!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>i met a ghost last night. <b>[11:43am]</b></p>
  <p><b>[1:56pm] </b> You DID???<br/><b>[1:56pm] </b> What??<br/><b>[1:56pm] </b> When? At the bonfire?<br/><b>[1:57pm] </b>Why didnt come find me??</p>
  <p>idk, shock i guess? <b>[3:12pm]</b><br/>he disappeared into the crowd <b> [3:12pm]</b><br/>barely had time to process what i was seeing <b> [3:12pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[3:14pm] </b>What did he look like?</p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>Crowley leaned back in their office chair. They remembered coming up off the ground and seeing a pair of shoes and when they looked up...there he was. Soft edges with a softer expression. The fire behind him added just a hint of the ominous while still casting him in an otherworldly glow. And then they'd stood up and his gaze never left theirs, never strayed from their eyes, didn't wander the length of them, didn't frown or scowl or...anything. He just looked, eyes wide and so very blue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Ethereal <b>[3:24pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>And then Crowley had looked down at the headphones in his hand and he'd run off.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>and maybe a little scared <b>[3:27pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[3:30pm] </b> Unbelievable<br/><b>[3:30pm] </b>I'll have to go back to that area when I have some time</p>
</blockquote><p>It wasn't lost on Crowley that Anathema fully thought they meant an actual ghost. That was fine. Better for everyone really. If Crowley clarified that it was a <em> person </em>, she'd only offer to figure out who it was and track him down and introduce them and and and--no. Better she think him a ghost, better Crowley did. Just some specter that passed through their fingertips. </p>
<p>He was beautiful though.</p>
<p>Crowley shook their head. None of that.</p>
<p>That was Thursday. By Saturday Crowley was sprawled on their couch still trying to get the image of the ghost out of their head. A tiny part of them itched to give Anathema an <em> actual </em>description of the man. Of his cloud-like hair, the soft shape of his body, the gentle look in his eyes, that ridiculous bowtie that made a grin spread across Crowley’s face every time they thought of it. His little devil horns. The argyle sweatervest. The white-knuckle grip on his headphones. And that part of them was growing larger every day.</p>
<p>What harm could it do, really? Even just a name. No one said they had to meet or get coffee or anything.</p>
<p>They stared down at their phone in their hand.</p>
<p>No. That was only going to lead to some kind of heartache and they weren’t going to set themself up for that. They tossed the phone to the other end of the couch and picked up their latest bookshop acquisition. It was a fantasy, swords and shields and magic, a dashing rogue. Aziraphale had been very keen to mention in his blurb the ‘handsome and clever’ thief with a heart of gold.</p>
<p>“Okay, Aziraphale,” they said as they settled into the couch, “take me away from here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh Tracy," Aziraphale said after a steadying sip of his tea, "I wish you could have been there."</p>
<p>"No no, love, I've already done my fair share of discos and the like. But I'm glad you seemed to enjoy yourself. Tell me more about this mystery person."</p>
<p>"They were like...like a siren. Enchanting and luring me in and I couldn't look away."</p>
<p>Tracy frowned as she bit into her muffin, "Maybe I'm wrong, but didn't sirens lead sailors to their deaths?"</p>
<p>"Well...yes, technically. But I was so distracted thinking about them this morning that I very nearly missed my bus! I would've been late to open the shop."</p>
<p>"And that's certainly the equivalent of crashing against jagged rocks to sink to the bottom of the ocean."</p>
<p>"Exactly!"</p>
<p>She laughed and continued to pick her muffin apart, bright yellow fingernails digging into blueberry.</p>
<p>“I don't know what I'm going to do, I simply can't get them out of my head. I've concocted all sorts of fantasies of us running into one another again."</p>
<p>"Maybe you will, and then you'll be prepared on what to say."</p>
<p>He scoffed, "I've been living and working in this part of the city for the past ten years, if I've never run into them before...I doubt that will change."</p>
<p>"Oh love," Tracy said, her many bracelets clattering against the table as she reached over to put a hand on his, "you don't know that! You'd never met them before and now suddenly here they are. Who knows, it could be the beginning of something wonderful." She patted his hand, "You keep having your little daydreams, don't give up on hope."</p>
<p>Aziraphale took another sip of his tea. He wished it was that easy. It was one thing to think up all sorts of situations over and over, perfecting his introduction, witty comments, interesting small talk. It was another to actually do it if the time ever presented itself. He almost hoped it never would. He'd only embarrass himself. And besides, they were so beautiful and graceful and, well, he was him. He was glad he left before he could see the look on their face after taking in the sight of him. It let him hold onto the memory of their dance, of the way everything in him seemed to burn up and freeze over all at once when their eyes met, of the firelight in their gaze.</p>
<p>"Azi?"</p>
<p>"Hmm?"</p>
<p>She smiled a patient little smile and gestured to her wristwatch. "It's almost two."</p>
<p>"Oh bugger, I've got to get back. Thank you for coming out with me."</p>
<p>"Of course, any time! Christmas is coming you know, and I imagine neither one of us will be able to get away for long soon."</p>
<p>"Truthfully? I'll be glad for the distraction." He gathered his jacket and bent over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley pulled into the grocery parking lot with a groan. It was raining and cloudy and they hadn't wanted to leave their apartment but they were out of crisps. And the only market that sold the crisps they <em> really </em> wanted, the "I'm-pretending-I'm-not-depressed" crisps, the "don't-look-over-here-everything-is-fine- <em> I said don’t look </em>" crisps, was a fifteen minute drive away. They'd tried waiting the rain out but by the time it reached 5 pm and no sign of letting up they dragged themself off the couch, jammed their feet into some boots, and slumped into the Bentley. </p>
<p>They looked out at the lot, gauging the distance from the car to the entrance and calculating just how drenched they were going to get. Then it was another ten minutes of resting their forehead on the steering wheel and further bemoaning the state of the world.</p>
<p>"Get it together, Crowley. You are going to get your shit together. You're going to go in there, you're going to buy some crisps and some sweets and you're going to drive home and watch some god-awful movie with blood and guts, and by tomorrow you will stop feeling sorry for yourself."</p>
<p>They sat back in the seat and stared at their reflection in the rear-view mirror. Their reflection looked doubtful.</p>
<p>Of course the first cart they grabbed was somehow caught on the next cart, and the cart after that had a wobbly wheel and a squeak, and the cart after <em> that </em>...was alright actually. They ambled around the store, half slumped over. Why couldn't they get the bloody ghost out of their head? It had reached a point that whenever they went downstairs in the gallery they hoped to turn a corner and see him. They wondered why he'd been standing there at the rave like that, no headphones on, looking lost and so bloody soft. Which of course brought them back to that ridiculous bowtie.</p>
<p>Crowley hung their head and let out a pathetic little whimper, "Why is this happeninnnng." They turned into the next aisle, not looking, and felt their cart crash into something.</p>
<p>"Oh shit, I'm sorry!"</p>
<p>It was a basket they'd hit. A basket being held by--</p>
<p>"That's quite alright, these things..."</p>
<p>It was him. It was the ghost.</p>
<p>They stared at each other much like they had that night. Finally Crowley managed to get their mouth to work.</p>
<p>"It's you," they said.</p>
<p>"It's...me?" the ghost said.</p>
<p>"You're not dead."</p>
<p>"No, I'm not--wait, was there concern that I <em> was </em>?"</p>
<p>The look of panic on his face helped shake Crowley's brain into action. "Shit, no, sorry, I don't know why I said that. I mean I know, I know <em> why </em> I said that. I said it because, you've, I've-I've been referring to you as...'the ghost from the rave' in...my head."</p>
<p>"Oh."</p>
<p>Fuck, fuck fuck, what was happening? What was the point in all those ridiculous day dreams of first meetings if they were going to <em> forget every smooth line they’d thought up </em>.</p>
<p>"Because you, when I saw you, by the fire, you looked, you were there and-and, I thought, 'he's beautiful and ethereal' and I, wait is it 'he'?"</p>
<p>The ghost stared at them for a moment. "Oh uh, yes. Sorry. Yes, it's. Yes. ...You?"</p>
<p>"They."</p>
<p>Why had they said he was beautiful? <em> Ethereal </em> ? You don’t say that to a person. That's weird and awkward and they said he was <em> dead </em> and--</p>
<p>"I liked your dance."</p>
<p>"...you did?"</p>
<p>He nodded, "I was watching you. Oh dear, that sounds a little creepy out loud."</p>
<p>"No, no, it's-I was dancing, it was, we were at a, y'know, and it was in the open so..."</p>
<p>They shifted. Suddenly aware that they hadn't done anything with their hair besides a messy bun. That their joggers had holes and through those holes their galaxy print leggings were visible. They'd worn both because it'd been too cold out for just the leggings and they were too brain dead to fully change their clothes. That their rain boots were bright pink with little yellow ducks all across. It was a small mercy their jacket was closed otherwise their crop top that read "Boys in Books are Just Better", which they'd bought online after two glasses of wine while lamenting their inability to go into the bookshop on any other day than Thursday and chance meeting their Bookseller, would have been on full display.</p>
<p>"I liked it quite a bit," the ghost said.</p>
<p>"You did?"</p>
<p>"Mhm. I-I thought you were mesmerizing."</p>
<p>"Oh."</p>
<p>He looked down at his basket. Crowley followed his gaze to the tin of biscuits inside.</p>
<p>"Uh, I'm--" Crowley's phone went off, loudly clattering in the front basket of the cart as it vibrated. It made them jump, the ghost fully gasping at the sudden movement. Crowley snatched it up, "Sorry, sorry!"</p>
<p>"That's alright. I should-I should let you get that. So sorry to keep you. It was nice to see you again. Have a good day."</p>
<p>And just like at the rave, he scurried away.</p>
<p>Crowley watched him go, absently swiping their phone to pick up. "Hey, Michael..."</p>
<p>"Crowley, listen, I've got..."</p>
<p>"Uh huh." They weren't listening. They were watching the ghost seem to not know which way he wanted to go in the store, head for the register and then just give up entirely, placing his basket down and scurrying to the exit.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale made absolutely no attempt to forget about the siren from the rave. He had a very good imagination and it was easy to imagine that night had gone a different way. That he had stayed, the siren was friendly and they talked and laughed and, well, his imagination provided everything from a simple exchange of phone numbers to an evening spent at the siren’s house (that ending featured a much more adventurous Aziraphale.) It was all alright, perfectly harmless, because he’d never see them again.</p>
<p>Until he did.</p>
<p>He’d gone to the market after work, thinking to get some biscuits, maybe some wine --in a bottle for God’s sake-- and curl up with a book. And then the siren crashed into him.</p>
<p>“It’s you,” they’d said. And Aziraphale felt himself hope against hope that they had been thinking of him as much as he’d been thinking of them.</p>
<p>Aziraphale was well practiced in mitigating disappointment. He had to be. And so he didn’t quite know what to do when that hope was given reason to swell, not diminish. He listened to the siren describe him, <em> him, </em> as ethereal. They'd said they'd <em>been </em> referring to him as the ghost.</p>
<p>His brain struggled so extraordinarily with trying to process that information that he’d nearly forgotten his own pronouns. Then, in an act of rebellion and utter betrayal, his mouth kept moving! He could hear himself saying he liked the siren’s dance (normal), that he’d been watching them (creepy), and that he’d thought they were mesmerizing (flat out awkward). It was a small miracle when the cell phone went off, even if it did scare the daylights out of him. He’d been so flustered he left his biscuits, and he’d rather been looking forward to them.</p>
<p>The whole thing had only served to exacerbate his daydreams. He’d run into the siren twice now, within a week of each other, surely that meant something. Aziraphale <em> knew </em> he’d have noticed them if he’d ever seen them before. This was new, maybe an opportunity. Suddenly he felt himself paying more attention to which bowtie he chose, which jumper, how they went together, just in case they ran into one another again.</p>
<p>He knew he was being an indulgent mess, and possibly setting himself up for disappointment, but oh he just couldn’t <em> help </em> it! It was so nice and dreamy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a crush. And there was certainly no harm in indulging a few innocent meet-cute daydreams.</p>
<p>He let them whirl ever present at the back of his mind while he went about his day. At work, doing laundry, while he got his morning tea. That was why, when he finished paying for his drink after exchanging pleasantries with Eric, and he turned and saw the siren standing at the pick-up counter, he briefly wondered if he was hallucinating.</p>
<p>They were standing there, hip cocked, typing away on their phone, gorgeous as anything. At the rave they were dressed simply, just the skirt and blouse, at the grocery they'd been flash in a playful sort of way, but now? Goodness. Was this how they dressed on a normal day?</p>
<p>Hair fully swept to one side, loose and wavy, pins above their ear that shimmered. They wore  a black turtleneck with a dress over, gold buttons that went down the front. Stockings with some kind of floral pattern woven into them and a pair of lace up boots. Were they some sort of fashion model? They had to be.</p>
<p>He couldn't say something. He should say something. He <em> wanted </em> to say something. But he'd made such an arse of himself at the grocer.</p>
<p>Aziraphale's feet were moving without explicit instruction to and before he knew it he was standing near them. Fortunately, he’d been thinking about this moment, and although it happened in a variety of scenarios, in most he knew exactly what he would say if he got to speak first.</p>
<p>“It’s you."</p>
<p>The siren looked over, a very brief look of annoyance that quickly blossomed into surprise and a wide grin. Oh, Aziraphale loved that smile.</p>
<p>"Hi! Hey, hi! It's-it's me, heh."</p>
<p>"How are you?"</p>
<p>"Good! I'm, y'know, good. Uh." They held up their phone, waving it back and forth a bit, "Got a new thing happening at work in a few weeks that I'm excited about."</p>
<p>"That's wonderful! Oh, sorry did you need to--I didn't meant to bother you, I'll--"</p>
<p>"No! No I'm not doing anything that can't wait."</p>
<p>"Ah." He swallowed, fumbled for something to say, "I uh, I don't get many new and exciting projects where I'm at. Although I do get to work on the displays sometimes and that's rather fun."</p>
<p>“Yeah? Where--"</p>
<p>"Two decaf vanilla lattes with <em> no foam </em> for cannoli!"</p>
<p>Aziraphale watched from the corner of his eye as Eric set the two cups down in a cup holder, added some stirrers, a couple napkins, and then went off to make more drinks. Aziraphale watched from the corner of his eye because he couldn’t look away from the siren in front of him as they slowly went as red as their hair. He tried not to laugh, he really, really did and to his credit he succeeded. But the absolute quivering of his lips made it clear it was a close thing.</p>
<p>"Your drinks are going to get cold."</p>
<p>"There's no way I can pretend they’re not mine is there?"</p>
<p>Aziraphale glanced around the empty cafe, "I don't think so, no."</p>
<p>They deflated, "God-bloody-fu, look, my name's not, <em> obviously </em>it's not canno, it's-it's Cr-y'know, I'm just going to," they stuffed some more napkins between the cups, "I should get these back to um, yeah," they stepped around Azirapahle, "it was nice, uh, to, y'know," they bumped into a table, "ow, see you again. Okay. Bye now."</p>
<p>They managed to make it out of the cafe without crashing into anything else but it was a near miss as they squeezed past a group of people coming in.</p>
<p>“Here you go, Aziraphale,” Eric said as he set his tea down.</p>
<p>He wanted to ask Eric about the ‘cannoli’ thing but they were taking the orders of the new group, and more people were coming in. Maybe next time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley dropped onto the hotel bed with a dramatic sigh. They’d managed to survive until their birthday <em> somehow </em> . Despite having everything turn on its head at that blasted rave. Despite running into the ghost not once but <em> twice </em> more and somehow not managing to be coherent or intelligible on either occasion. Despite their mind and heart becoming co-conspirators, providing them with a constant mental and emotional IV drip of what-if scenarios and the palpitations to go with them. They’d survived.</p>
<p>Barely.</p>
<p>They rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. They were going to focus on enjoying their birthday. An event that usually went by unnoticed would provide a welcome distraction. The big 5-0. They supposed they were meant to feel a certain way about that, but they’d never much cared for the stock put in the weight of a birthday, of another year marked off. They didn't feel their age, that was for sure. Probably because they never thought about it. No, Crowley only ever felt the passage of time when they looked around and saw old friends with new lovers, new couples now old and set in their routines, the addition of squalling babies. That was the only time Crowley very much felt as though the world were spinning around them while they stood in place.</p>
<p>They pushed off the bed. No time for thinking about that. The weekend was for shopping and eating fancy cakes and drinking good wine in bubble baths. It was decidedly <em> not </em> for thinking about ghosts with cotton fluff hair who spoke like a good book smelled and had eyes so bright and kind and so ready to cry that Crowley wanted to kiss their corners and whisper promises into the lashes.</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>They grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.</p>
<p>The rest of the day had gone better, with minimal intrusive thoughts of the ghostly nature. Sometime around nine they stumbled into their hotel room with half a dozen fancy and impractically shaped boutique bags in their arms and slightly tipsy. It was bubble bath time. They’d gotten this specific suite for the aggressively ostentatious clawfoot tub and they intended to soak very, very deep into it.</p>
<p>They were on their second glass of wine and halfway through their box of chocolates when their phone went off, a short little <em> vrr </em> that they considered ignoring.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[7:02pm] </b> HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!<br/><b>[9:37pm] </b>i said. HAPPY. BIRTHDAY.</p>
</blockquote><p>Crowley tried not to smile at the insistent well wishes from Anathema and failed. She was the only person who ever called or texted them on their birthday or on Special Day. What few members of Crowley’s family still pretended to deal with them kept to social media, the occasional obnoxious gif or e-card, and that was that. It was nice that Anathema took the time to say it directly.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>not yet, technically <b>[9:39pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[9:40pm] </b>It's after midnight here so YES technically</p>
  <p>what's it like in the future? <b>[9:40pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[9:43pm] </b>Bleak, mostly</p>
  <p>gross. guess ill die then <b>[9:44pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[9:45pm] </b>You can't die on your birthday!</p>
  <p>why not? was good enough for willy shakes <b>[9:45pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>Crowley thought about that. Was it Shakespeare? Or was it Poe? No it was Will. Probably.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[9:48pm] </b>SHUT IT</p>
  <p>what are you doing up anyway? <b>[9:50pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[9:50pm] </b>dw about it</p>
  <p>witchy things i bet <b>[9:51pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[9:51pm] </b>The less you know</p>
  <p>since i've got you, i spoke with the artists coming in for the winter showcase and they've agreed to push it back a week. so you can tell newt to tell his kids they can have their thing on the 10th of dec <b>[9:55pm]</b> <b><br/><br/></b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>Newt tutored a bunch of second year university students and apparently they were all in the same theatre class as well. When they mentioned they were on the hunt for a place to showcase their work that wasn’t the black box on campus, Anathema suggested Fallen.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[9:58pm] </b> really?? THAT'S PERFECT<br/><b>[9:58pm] </b>look at you, getting nice in your old age</p>
  <p> <span class="x1F620"><span class="hide">(Angry Face )</span></span> im not nice <b>[10:00pm]</b><br/>i'm cool <b> [10:00pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[10:01pm] </b>uh huh</p>
  <p>and suave <b>[10:01pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[10:02pm] </b>sure</p>
  <p>and mysterious <b>[10:02pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[10:03pm] </b> </p>
  <p>wow <b> [10:04pm]</b> <b><br/></b> rude <b>[10:04pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[10:08pm]</b>send me pics tomorrow of the clothes you got</p>
  <p>who says i went clothes shopping? <b>[10:09pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[10:10pm] </b> is this crowley?<br/><b>[10:10pm] </b>blink twice if you need help</p>
  <p>fuck off <b>[10:12pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[10:15pm] </b> <span class="x2764"> <span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span> </span> <span class="x2764"> <span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span> </span> <span class="x2764"> <span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span> </span></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>They soaked until the water went tepid and then a little more after that for good measure. After rinsing any stray bubbles off they wrapped themselves up in the hotel's giant, fluffy bathrobe and jumped onto the bed. One more glass of wine because why not, that's why, and the rest of their chocolates, and a couple of chapters before bed. Perfect birthday.</p>
<p>Crowley settled in against the headboard, slipped their little galaxy-print bookmark out, and nibbled on the edge as they read. They were still reading the fantasy book Aziraphale had recommended and it was so good and so very casually queer, Crowley couldn't help but grin at that. They tried very hard not to think about what that might say about Aziraphale, but they thought it boded well.</p>
<p>The daring and handsome and snarky and rakish thief was on the run with the equally snarky and handsome but proper and a little uptight cleric. Usually there was more to their group but they'd gotten separated so now it was just the two of them, running in the rain, through the woods, and oh, look, an abandoned little hut for them to hide in. Crowley snuggled into their robe. The characters had been dancing around their feelings for half the book and Crowley thought they might throw it across the room if the two of them didn't <em> kiss already </em>.</p>
<p>They ate a chocolate.</p>
<p>Wet cloaks and boats and the like were getting shed. They couldn’t build a fire, the smoke would get seen from the road.</p>
<p>“Ohno, how else will you stay warm?” Crowley said into their wine glass.</p>
<p>They fought the urge to skim the next few paragraphs ahead to see what happened. If the characters managed to get it together they were expecting a tasteful fade-to-black, bird chirping next morning sort of deal. Which is why, one yelling-match-complete-with-accidental-confessions followed by several heated kisses later, Crowley was a little surprised when a hand went down someone’s pants.</p>
<p>“Why Aziraphale, you minx, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Crowley popped another chocolate into their mouth, burrowing impossibly further into their robe.</p>
<p>Whenever they read an Aziraphale recommendation they liked to imagine what the bookseller thought of different parts. They wondered what conversations the two of them might have over tea or coffee or dinner. It was hard to break out of the habit and the idea of picturing this bookseller huddled up in their own bed, reading this increasingly graphic sex scene, was at the forefront of Crowley’s mind before they could stop it. Did he see himself as the rakish thief or the uptight cleric? There was the possibility that ‘neither’ was the answer but Crowley didn’t believe that, not for a second. The thief was on his knees, a hand in his hair. Crowley re-read the description of how the cleric had wrapped the thief’s braid around his hand, and then read it again. They shifted on the bed, feeling too exposed, and slid under the covers.</p>
<p>It wasn’t long before their hand began to wander, before the book fell to the wayside, and they closed their eyes against thoughts of desperate, passionate kisses and tender caresses. And if the setting was, for some reason, a sitting room packed to the rafters with books lit by the setting sun, they weren’t going to focus on that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the week before Thanksgiving and Aziraphale's crush on the siren had not lessened in any way. He considered their second run-in at the coffee shop to have gone leagues better than the grocery, mostly because he managed a few complete sentences. They both did! None of those sentences had resulted in the exchange of numbers or even names but, that was alright. Counting the rave they'd bumped into each three times in as many weeks. He simply couldn't ignore that. So he didn't.</p>
<p>He'd taken to imagining the siren walking into the bookshop, asking him for a recommendation, of which Aziraphale had <em> many </em>. He thought of them meeting at the gallery. He thought of their dance and wondered which piece in the gallery would attract them. Ultimately he settled on the wings. When he thought of how they struggled to get to their feet, to rise up, he thought the wings in decay seemed appropriate.</p>
<p>He also caught himself imagining them in his flat. Maybe sitting on the couch with some snacks, ready to watch a movie. Or they could curl under a blanket, legs entangled while they read. Oh he hoped they were the kind of person that read. He tried to shake those reveries away, they were harmless and yet he felt guilty over them, like he'd over stepped somehow.</p>
<p>Aziraphale had meant to go back to the coffee shop, in the hopes of running into the siren again but whenever he went past it was busy. Some new holiday drink or some such that people flocked to.</p>
<p>The Thursday before Thanksgiving he sat on the bus, on his way home, thinking about hot chocolate and his extra warm jumper when his phone went off.</p>
<p>"Hello Anathema."</p>
<p>"Hey, sorry, I know you prefer text but I just need to confirm you're coming tomorrow, right?"</p>
<p>"Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world!"</p>
<p>Every year, the week before thanksgiving, Aziraphale and company had what Anathema liked to call "Friendsgiving". It was a chance to be together and have good food and drink with the people they really wanted to spend it with, before running off to obligatory family gatherings. At least, that was how Anathema described it. Aziraphale got the impression Newt had a decent relationship with his family. Tracy had a sister somewhere that she and Shadwell often visited. Aziraphale was the only one that stayed right where he was, having successfully cut ties with his own family.</p>
<p>"Ok. Good. Great. Perfect."</p>
<p>"Are you alright, my dear? you sound out of sorts."</p>
<p>"I just, I've never hosted before, and I'm wondering if I have enough space. Usually Tracy does this and it seemed like a good idea at the time and now I'm...</p>
<p>"Panicking?"</p>
<p>"No. I don't panic. Devices don't panic. ...But I am nervous."</p>
<p>"Well it's just the usual suspects. We have dinners all the--</p>
<p>"No, Newt's kids are popping in too."</p>
<p>"Oh!"</p>
<p>"Yup, and I invited Crowley but--"</p>
<p>"The gallery owner?" Aziraphale hoped his squeak wasn't audible over the phone.</p>
<p>"Yeah but I don't think they'll come. They usually spend thanksgiving with their cousin and I think they try to reserve all their strength for that."</p>
<p>"Ah. Yes that makes sense. If you think I can be of any help at all, I can certainly come by early to help you set up."</p>
<p>"...would you?"</p>
<p>"Of course, my dear. Would around three work?"</p>
<p>"Yes! Thank you I--wait who's allergic to cranberry? One second, Newt. Sorry, Az, I gotta, some of the kids have dietary restrictions. I'll text you later, kloveyoubye."</p>
<p>He smiled down at his phone. He loved fall and winter. He didn't like the cold but he <em> did </em> like the holidays. Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas. It all just felt so very cozy and well, like he had a family that actually cared about him. New Year's was always fun and then his birthday. Valentine's day was a bit sad but there was galentine's day, which was very fun, then there was the day <em> after </em> valentine's day when everything went on sale. Then, unfortunately, it was well on its way to spring and summer and heat and no excuse for Aziraphale to hide in oversized jumpers.</p>
<p>He loathed summer.</p>
<p>None of that. That was months off. For now he could think about hot chocolate and blankets and fuzzy slippers. He wiggled in his seat.</p>
<p>Aziraphale was still smiling to himself when he glanced out the window and saw the siren walking down the street in the opposite direction. They were on the phone, hair in a long braid, looking glamorous as ever in a peacoat that pulled in at the waist with a bow and flared out again. Without thinking, Aziraphale waved. He couldn't see their eyes through their glasses but their head turned toward the bus and a grin spread across their face as they waved back. And then they were out of his line of sight as the bus kept going. He almost considered getting off at the next stop, trying to catch up with them but...well that wouldn't do. They were on the phone, clearly busy and people just don't do that sort of thing outside of his stories.</p>
<p>Instead, Aziraphale busied himself with thoughts of friendsgiving and books. He thought he might recommend a good one with found family themes, he was such a sap for that sort of thing. And maybe the siren would come in and read it and they could discuss it, wouldn't that be nice?</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I own that crop top. Hasn't netted me any Aziraphales yet tho. Fingers crossed.</p>
<p>edit: once agian, the art in this chapter is a piece I commissioned from <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lonicera.caprifolium/">lonicera.caprifolium on Instagram!</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><br/>hello friends! Quick content warning for the beginnings of a mild panic attack. the character is able to calm himself down but it does come with thoughts about past abuse they endured. Nothing graphic but it is described enough to paint a decent picture.<br/><br/>Despite that, overall this is one of my favorite chapters because there really is a lot of sweet sweet domesticity.<br/></p>
</blockquote></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale arrived at Anathema's at 2:50. She opened the front door in an apron, flour and some sort of jam on the front, a bowl under one arm and a finger pointing to his face.</p>
<p>"Say. Nothing."</p>
<p>"Nothing," he said with a smile.</p>
<p>"Ugh, c'mon."</p>
<p>He toed off his shoes, one hand closing and locking the door. "What are you making, my dear?"</p>
<p>"I'm <em> trying </em> to make these raspberry jam filled muffins but the stupid things keep exploding."</p>
<p>Aziraphale made his way down the hall to the kitchen. He peeked into the dining room at his right to see Newt setting the table.</p>
<p>"Hey, Mr. Fell."</p>
<p>"Hello, Newt."</p>
<p>"Good luck," he whispered.</p>
<p>"I heard that!"</p>
<p>He turned to his left, moving to the kitchen doorway and oh...dear.</p>
<p>"It's not as bad as it looks."</p>
<p>"Are you referring to the state of the kitchen or whatever it is that is smoldering on the stove top?"</p>
<p>"Look just ignore that--"</p>
<p>"I think it's breathing."</p>
<p>"Az!"</p>
<p>"We have to toss the one ring into it."</p>
<p>Newt snorted from the other room.</p>
<p>"I don't get that reference! I could've had Crowley here for this."</p>
<p>"Oh? Are they a fan of rea--"</p>
<p>"Aziraphale. Focus. I need your help."</p>
<p>"Yes, right, of course." He slipped off his jacket, hanging it on a hook in the hall.</p>
<p>"I'm assuming you know how to bake."</p>
<p>"Why on Earth would you assume that?"</p>
<p>"I don't know you're, y'know."</p>
<p>"Please don't tell me you've made this assumption because I'm gay."</p>
<p>"No! Because you're <em> you </em>. With your jumpers and your hot cocoa, I could just see you on the cover of a cookbook, little glasses on, decorating a cake or something."</p>
<p>"That's a nice image," he said, washing his hands, "but I'm afraid I'm rather terrible at all things kitchen related."</p>
<p>"Oh god, this is going to go up in flames. I'm gonna cancel. I'm gonna text everyone--"</p>
<p>"There, there, it's not as bad as all that. Before we tackle this..." he gestured vaguely in the direction of the half a dozen oozing cups of tar on the stove top, "tell me you've started on the turkey?"</p>
<p>"Tracy's doing that. She really wanted to. Even though I said for that she may as well host instead of bringing the entire turkey over <em> here </em> but she really wanted to make it and she was looking forward to only having to make the one thing and <em> not </em> host so..."</p>
<p>"I think that’s turned out for the best."</p>
<p>"Yeah, tell me about it."</p>
<p>"Alright, so exploding muffins. I don't know how to bake but I'm fairly decent at following instructions and problem-solving. Why don't you show me what you're doing?"</p>
<p>"So I fill the stupid paper cup like this--"</p>
<p>"Oh dear that's much too much, you need half that at least."</p>
<p>"Are you sure?"</p>
<p>Brows raised, Aziraphale looked meaningfully at the stove top.</p>
<p>"Right, okay. Here then, you do that--"</p>
<p>"Wait I'm not good at--"</p>
<p>"All the mixing is done. It's just the filling and jam-scooping. I believe in you. I'm going to move on to--Newt! No one's getting here for another three hours, are you going to spend that whole time setting the table?"</p>
<p>"Will it keep me out of the kitchen?"</p>
<p>Anathema made an open-mouthed face of silent offense at Aziraphale and stomped off into the dining room. He could hear playful teasing and barbs which he immediately tried to tune out by reading the recipe instructions out loud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Newt's kids arrived around 5, each bringing something for the meal. Aziraphale made a concentrated effort to learn and really remember all of their names this time. It turned out they were all in university and not high-schoolers as he'd originally thought.</p>
<p>There was Adam, and he brought a nice bottle of something sparkling and non-alcoholic.</p>
<p>Pepper, who brought a dish that involved sweet potatoes and marshmallows. (Aziraphale was endeared to her immediately.)</p>
<p>Brian, who'd done the stuffing.</p>
<p>And Wensleydale, who brought a fun board game to play after dinner which Aziraphale thought to be rather practical.</p>
<p>They all took to the living room and sat chatting amicably with Newt, first over school and the like, then about their own families, going home for the holidays the following week, things of that nature. Aziraphale was content to simply sit and listen. Tracy and Shadwell arrived around half past, with the turkey as well as a couple bottles of something decidedly alcoholic. Before long they were all in the living room chattering about this or that.</p>
<p>It was...nice. Relatively quiet and calm. Peaceful. So very different from the quiet calm he grew up with. Everyone in their absolute Sunday best, proper conversations, discussions of school and work. Sometimes there was laughter. Gabriel would tell a joke and their parents would laugh. Raphael would recreate whatever latest thing had gotten her an award in school, a performance, an essay written, some record broken. Polite conversation. It was always fine until it wasn't. Everyone smiling until they weren't. The ever present hum below it all that something could go wrong. Lightning could strike at any moment in the form of their father angry, yelling over a perceived slight, a challenge to his rule. No one was safe from it. And then later Gabriel would further the cycle and take out his own hurt and confusion and frustration and anger on Aziraphale.</p>
<p>He'd always wondered about jokes and anecdotes about the youngest being the spoiled one, the baby who got whatever they wanted.</p>
<p>He wondered what that must have been like.</p>
<p>It was a long time ago and he'd done his work, he'd gone to therapy and he continued to grapple with his depression, with his hypervigilance, with the way he jumped clean out of his skin at sudden noises, the way shouting still, <em> still </em> made him panic, his hands twitching to shield himself.</p>
<p>He'd done and continued to do the work.</p>
<p>But it didn't rewrite the past. It didn't give him a childhood he never had. It didn't give him fond memories to look back on. He had friends now, he was safe. But it didn't make things easy. Aziraphale loved the holidays because he <em> chose </em> to focus on the warm and the cozy and for making that for himself. But sometimes everything else slipped through.</p>
<p>Aziraphale took a deep breath, pulling himself back to the present. He looked around the room, eyes a little blurry, focusing on what was happening around him. On the conversations being had. Little details to pull him back to the present, back to safety.</p>
<p>Shadwell and Brian seemed to be in a heated discussion over something called bug-out bags and the ideal location within walking distance of their homes to fortify in case of a zombie apocalypse. He turned away from that to see Adam and Tracy discussing something called a lace-front. He knew, thankfully, enough to know that had something to do with wigs but not much else. Pepper and Newt were discussing an upcoming show. Aziraphale started as he thought he heard the Fallen gallery mentioned but before he could join their conversation Anathema tapped him on the shoulder.</p>
<p>"Hey, help me in the dining room?"</p>
<p>"Of course, my dear."</p>
<p>While they rearranged the various trays of food to utilize as much of the table space as possible without sacrificing the existence of the centerpiece, both Anathema and Aziraphale felt very strongly about the overall aesthetics of a good centerpiece, Aziraphale hummed in thought.</p>
<p>"I uh, heard Pepper and Newt talking about the gallery. A new show?" He hoped he sounded inconspicuous. When Anathema mentioned inviting Crowley to the dinner only to say they wouldn't make it, Aziraphale realized he'd been warming up to the idea of meeting the gallery owner.</p>
<p>"Oh yeah, they've got some kind of showcase of one acts and monologues for their class. Crowley agreed to let them put it up at Fallen."</p>
<p>"That's very kind of them!"</p>
<p>She shrugged, "They love theatre, you kidding? And they'll jump at any chance to give young artists a platform. You should come see it."</p>
<p>“Oh, I-I wouldn't want to impose. I can’t imagine it’s open to the public.”</p>
<p>“Not really, but I’m sure I could get you in as a friend of the owner.”</p>
<p>“Will uh, will they be there?”</p>
<p>Anathema smirked but had the decency to pretend she wasn’t smirking, which Aziraphale was eternally grateful for. “Yup,” she said, popping the ‘p’.</p>
<p>“I see. Wh-when is it?”</p>
<p>“House opens at 5pm on the 10th.”</p>
<p>“Oh at 5…”</p>
<p>“The 10th is a Monday,” she added knowingly.</p>
<p>“Oh! One of my days off, that’s perfect!”</p>
<p>“Mhhmmm.”</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose, I mean if you don’t think it’d be a bother.”</p>
<p>“I really don’t. Besides, you’ve been there so many times I really want them to meet their biggest fan. Also,” she leaned in as she passed him by, “you’re both kind of the worst and I think you’d get along wonderfully.”</p>
<p>“The worst? Me?”</p>
<p>“You compared my muffins to mount doom! Yeah, I googled it.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale busied himself with adjusting his bowtie to try and hide his smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinner was positively lovely. Aziraphale felt himself near to bursting with how content he felt. It was nice too, he had to admit, that Newt's kids weren't paired off among themselves so he no longer felt like an extra wheel. Although he did overhear Pepper chatting excitedly about someone in her class, a Mary, he thought he'd heard her say, and he could tell she was caught in the giddy excitement of a new crush.</p>
<p>Well, he thought he knew a thing or two about that.</p>
<p>And just like that his mind was thinking about the siren again. If he had to be honest, he thought he did a rather smashing job of <em> not </em> thinking about them all day. But now it was quiet, Wensleydale was setting up the pieces of his board game, and Aziraphale had a glass of red in his hand.</p>
<p>He thought of the way their face positively lit up when they smiled. At the cafe, when he'd waved from the bus, it was like they were genuinely excited to see him. And oh, they were so embarrassed when Eric had called out their order. He never did get to find out the story behind that, actually. It had been worth it though, to see the way the color spread across their freckled cheeks and over their ears. Before he knew it he was thinking of what it might be like to have them there with him at a gathering like this one. For them to perch on the arm of the chair he sat in, long legs crossed as they leaned to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He thought about what it might feel like for them to press a kiss to his temple, their long hair brushing against his cheek.</p>
<p>Oh dear.</p>
<p>He took a sip of his wine.</p>
<p>He didn't even know their name, much less have any guaranteed way of seeing them again. It was all chance.</p>
<p>The gallery owner on the other hand...Well he had a clear opportunity to meet them in the coming weeks. Aziraphale was very much looking forward to talking to them about the art in their gallery, about their interests, maybe they would ask what he did, and he could recommend a good book. It was a bit far-fetched, he would admit, but it was still fun to think about it. And certainly safer than getting attached to a person they'd only ever seen in passing.</p>
<p>Who clearly worked in the same part of the neighborhood he did.</p>
<p>Who Anathema might know someone who knew them as they'd been at the rave.</p>
<p>Who had hair he could play with and whose perfectly manicured nails would likely feel amazing on his scalp and who seemed to be full of frenetic energy, even when standing still, but he'd seen them dance and seen them move and he wanted to watch them do it always with the knowledge that when they got up off the ground it was to come sit by his side.</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked down into his glass with a heavy sigh. Maybe he <em> would </em> ask Anathema about them. Maybe if, by the time the new year came around, he was still sinking fast with this ship, he would be a little more proactive. If he could manage to build up the nerve, that was.</p>
<p>Wensleydale had finally finished assembling the many pieces and sorting the various cards and tokens for his board game, calling everyone into the living room. Aziraphale was grateful for the distraction but he hoped, he didn't pray any more but he certainly hoped, that wherever his siren was, that they were having a wonderful holiday full of light and laughter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley had a fairly large family. Two parents, a handful of aunts and uncles, a small wagon of cousins. There might still be a few grandparents in the mix, even. They didn't know because they didn't deal with almost any of them anymore. When Crowley became more open about their lifestyle and who they were, their family had, unsurprisingly, turned away. </p>
<p>All except their cousin Hastur. He remained Crowley's friend, reaching out when no one else did, inviting them to trips with his friends, sending the occasional meme on social media. Crowley was suspicious of it, at first, truth be told. They were almost convinced Hastur had drawn the short straw and was relegated to keeping tabs on Crowley. Gathering information to share with the rest of the family over a cocktail and a laugh. The only reason Crowley didn't pull away was because in all fairness they enjoyed their time with Hastur, he seemed alright, and despite their head held high and carefully constructed emotional armor, they weren't quite ready to let go of the only shred of family they had left. </p>
<p>Then a few years later a very nervous, sweaty Hastur introduced Crowley to his boyfriend, Ligur, and everything made much more sense. The two were married now, had been for going on fifteen years, and Crowley spent almost every Thanksgiving with them, as well as a few Christmases. Ligur's family was large, and boisterous, and so full of love that Crowley was simultaneously immensely proud to be considered a part of it and incredibly envious of Hastur.</p>
<p>Crowley took a sip of their wine. They stood in the doorway to the living room and from there could see the entire room, the stairwell going upstairs, and the back door leading to the backyard. They could hear the sounds from the kitchen, from the den, from upstairs. It was absolute madness.</p>
<p>Ligur's younger sister, Latoya, had come this year, after spending last year with her partner's family. Which meant there was a toddler running around and a seven-year-old that thought they were quite stealthy indeed, giving in to the allure of the forbidden wine glass and trying to sneak sips at any left unattended. There were cousins, and nephews, and nieces, aunts and uncles, a few grandparents (some of whom were great grandparents but pity the person that thought to remind them of that.) There was a gaggle of teens making tiktoks on the back porch, despite the snow, and a confused grandparent trying to understand what the devil a 'toktok' was. Someone had let the cat out and left the dog in, someone was braiding someone else's hair, a steady process of turning a lively and beautiful mass of tight, tight coils into an array of equally beautiful cornrows, into a complicated pattern that took skill and patience. Some other teens were also taking photos in increasingly dramatic poses, Crowley was certain they caught the term 'JoJo' more than once. A few of Ligur's extended family was huddled with some of Hastur's over a few open D&amp;D player handbooks at the dining table. The <em> other </em> cat was methodically smacking the unattended pile of dice to the floor. And everywhere, absolutely everywhere, was <em> laughter </em>.</p>
<p>They pushed off the wall and went to the kitchen, where Ligur was shredding cheese while Hastur poked at his phone.</p>
<p>"Smells good in here," Crowley said.</p>
<p>"Hey," said Ligur, "Tyreek was looking for you."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"Yeah he's working on a cosplay or something and he was wondering if you had any recommendations on where to get a good corset in his size."</p>
<p>"Pft, and then some. Is he upstairs?"</p>
<p>"Yeah I think--"</p>
<p>"Crooooowleeeey."</p>
<p>The voice came sing-song from the living room.</p>
<p>Ligur looked up from his pile of cheese, “Run. Now.”</p>
<p>Hastur peered over his phone, tilting his head as he looked at Crowley’s shoes, “<em> Can </em> you run in those?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” they said.</p>
<p>“There you are!”</p>
<p>Crowley smiled as Ligur’s mother sauntered into the kitchen, wine glass in hand.</p>
<p>“Hello, Loretta.”</p>
<p>She went the long way around the center island, avoiding her son who was looking at her with raised brows and a tilt of his head as if to say “don’t”.</p>
<p>“Crowley,” she said, “I’m so glad to see you but--”</p>
<p>“Ma,” said Ligur.</p>
<p>“No one to bring this year?” she said, her face turning down into a frown that was more comical than sincere.</p>
<p>Ligur scrubbed his hand down his face, “Can you leave them alone just <em> one </em> holiday?”</p>
<p>Completely ignoring her son she went on, “Wasn’t your birthday just a couple weeks ago?”</p>
<p>“It was, I got your card.”</p>
<p>“The big 5-0,” she mused. “I remember my 50th. Went sky diving with the girls.”</p>
<p>“And how was that?” Crowley asked.</p>
<p>She leaned in to whisper, not quite achieving the effect as she said with emphasis, “Fucking terrifying.”</p>
<p>Crowley choked on their wine.</p>
<p>“It was! If the good lord wanted my black ass to fly he’d’ve given me wings.”</p>
<p>“Jesus, ma, how many glasses have you <em> had </em>?”</p>
<p>She turned her attention on Ligur then, one perfectly penciled brow raised high, “Not nearly enough to forgive you for banishing my collard greens.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t <em> banish </em> y--I just said that maybe it would be a nice gesture if we let Hastur’s sister make them this year.”</p>
<p>Loretta looked from Ligur to her son-in-law. “Hastur.”</p>
<p>“Loretta.”</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Like my own.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“But if we have a repeat of the potato salad incident…”</p>
<p>“Yeah…”</p>
<p>She turned back to Crowley, putting a gentle hand on their arm, “We’ll talk later. There’s a woman in my game of thrones watch party that has a son that’s around your age.”</p>
<p>“That’s very kind, Loretta but--”</p>
<p>“No buts! You are going on a date if it's the last thing I do.” Again she made that ridiculous exaggerated face, “I don’t have very many thanksgivings left in me you know.”</p>
<p>“<em> Ma! </em>”</p>
<p>She shrugged, “It could be true!”</p>
<p>Ligur let out a defeated sigh, letting his head hang as Hastur rubbed his back gently. Crowley couldn’t fight the grin on their face. It was the same every year and despite Ligur’s protests, Loretta had always kept it lighthearted and teasing, never pushing too much or overstepping Crowley’s boundaries. She knew they hated blind dates and arranged this or thats, and wouldn’t ever go farther than a teasing nudge. It was a comfortable back-and-forth they’d cultivated over the years. She’d always been able to pick up on when the loneliness was hitting them harder than usual and would back down, switching instead to ask about the gallery or their friends, talk about the kids, embarrass her son, standard go-tos. Which is perhaps why Crowley felt a little obligated to throw her a bone.</p>
<p>“If it makes you feel <em> any </em> better,” they said, “there is...sort of...someone I’ve been thinking about?” Someone <em> s </em>, truly. They couldn’t get the ghost from the rave out of their head, and then there was their Bookseller.</p>
<p>Ligur’s head snapped up, “Really?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know that!” said Hastur.</p>
<p>“It’s a new development!” Crowley said, already half-regretting sharing even that much. “I’m not, it’s not, ugh, I shouldn’t’ve even said anything.”</p>
<p>They took a gulp of their wine, preparing themself for Loretta’s questions but Loretta, bless her, only wiggled her shoulders like a cat and said, “Well I won’t pry. Don’t want to jinx it. But the minute you two hook up--”</p>
<p>“Oh my god,” Ligur groaned.</p>
<p>“I have you on speed dial,” Crowley said.</p>
<p>Loretta went around the island, stealing a pinch of shredded cheese and kissing her son on the temple before leaving the kitchen.</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence before Hastur leaned in.</p>
<p>“Sooooo, how much of that was actually true?”</p>
<p>Crowley shrugged, “All of it, really. I...sort’ve met someone. But not really. I don’t even know his name. I saw him at a Halloween party--”</p>
<p>“Was it a masquerade?” Ligur asked, clearly hoping it was.</p>
<p>“It was not. But it was still hectic. Anyway, I’ve bumped into him a couple of times in the city--”</p>
<p>“And you still don’t know his name?” asked Hastur.</p>
<p>“Like I said, hectic. And...alright I haven’t exactly been my most suave ok? He completely throws me off in the best way and it is infuriating and I love it.”</p>
<p>Ligur grinned, “Sounds like you’ve a movie-made meet cute on your hands.”</p>
<p>“Except we haven’t met! Not really! There’s just, y’know,” he gestured vaguely, “the cute.” When neither person responded Crowley looked up from the floor to see raised brows and wide grins and hopeful eyes. “No. Nope,” they said. “I am not indulging this. Nothing has--nothing <em> will </em> happen. In fact I’m convinced they’re a ghost. So. There.”</p>
<p>“I mean…” said Hastur.</p>
<p>“Get that spectral D?” said Ligur.</p>
<p>A bark of laughter escaped Crowley, “You’re both the worst and I love you for it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so the evening went on in a swirl of laughter and teasing, good food and dessert and drinks, Crowley basking in every moment, content to soak it up, store it up for the rest of the holiday season, for the really sad nights when they wanted a hand to hold, or a dinner to share, or to hear the echo of footsteps other than their own in the apartment. They weren't one to worry about what introducing a partner would be like to this family of theirs. They knew it would be just fine and any conflict would come from a clash of personalities, nothing more, and that could happen with any family. They'd never thought about it because they hadn't been in a relationship that serious in ages. They hadn't been in any relationship in ages, really. But now, for some ungodly reason, all they could think about was seeing their ghost nestled in among everyone else. Would he feel at home going over D&amp;D books? Did he watch movies? Maybe he and Ligur could talk about whatever the latest romcom was. Being interrogated by Loretta. Under playful scrutiny of the kids, they were very protective of Crowley after all. Everyone was.</p>
<p>It was...nice. It was so nice to have this place where they felt wanted and loved and accepted. They wanted that for the ghost too. They wanted to see more of the nervous laughter in their eyes like when he waved from the bus. More of that spark of pure bastard as he tried not to completely lose it when Eric said 'cannoli'. They wanted to scoop him up and toss him into the center of this safe haven they had and never again see the look of shock and fear and sadness they'd glimpsed before he'd run off at the bonfire.</p>
<p>Crowley snuck away from the living room, creeping upstairs and to the spare room where they were staying. They rummaged through their bag, looking for their latest Aziraphale acquisition. They hadn't read the little index card he'd written up, having had just enough time to run in , hope there was something new, and run back out before they missed their train. But they'd snapped a photo of it, and now that they were perched on the edge of the bed, planning to read just a few pages before rejoining the family downstairs, they flipped through their phone to find the photo.</p>
<p>It was, of course, a book about self-discovery, and acceptance, and found families. Because of course it was. Crowley pressed their phone to their lips, looking down at the book in their hands.</p>
<p>"How do you always know, Aziraphale?"</p>
<p>They hoped, wherever he was, that his bookseller was having a holiday full of the same warmth and safety they had for themselves.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The trick to raspberry jam filled muffins is to take your basic muffin recipe, fill the cup with HALF of what you would normally put, scoop a teaspoon (or tablespoon depending on how big your muffin trays are) in to the center, and then put the other half of the muffin batter on top. Make sure the jam is really nestled in the center or it will ooze out the side. Ta-da! Jam filled muffins :).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for your patience! Had to take a brief hiatus, 2020 really be going for the throat y'all. Anyway, feel free to follow me on twitter or tumblr for updates on posting and stuff! (links at the end)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley had barely settled in after Thanksgiving before things were in a whirlwind. It wasn't something they were used to, a busy winter, a busy December. As far as they were concerned, if you didn't schedule something by Thanksgiving, don’t bother until after the New Year. It gave them an opportunity to sit on the couch and read, to sit by the fireplace and drink spiked cocoa, to curl up on the balcony and watch the world go by, to lay in bed and watch TV. To do, essentially, as little work as possible. But with agreeing to host the showcase for Newt's kids, that meant rehearsals, and setting up of lights, and storing of miscellany, and while they trusted Uriel to keep everything in order, their anxiety dictated that had to <em> be there </em> for it all, just in case...something.</p>
<p>They hadn't seen their ghost since their fleeting bus encounter. A small part of them, the part of them that had most certainly lost any and all chill about this, feared that the ghost didn't even live in the city. What if he'd only been in to visit friends or family?</p>
<p>But then they'd first met at a Halloween party. And they last saw each other just before Thanksgiving. Who comes in to visit for a month? Besides, he seemed at home in the cafe, on the bus, in the market even. That's right! He was in the market! He must live in the city.</p>
<p>What, like people traveling don't go to the store? He could've been buying biscuits to go and hole up in his hotel or motel or airbnb and read a book.</p>
<p>They wondered what kind of books he read.</p>
<p>Which, of course, got them thinking about Aziraphale. Whom they'd <em> never </em> met and, going by their book-buying habits, were likely to go on <em> not </em> meeting and yet they wondered about him still. All they had to do was walk in on any other day besides Thursday. It was literally that simple.</p>
<p>But that was scary and so they didn't. The ghost, at least, smiled whenever he saw them. He smiled and he waved and he fairly glowed with excitement. Crowley wouldn't trade that in for anything.</p>
<p>Not that it was a trade.</p>
<p>They could have a crush on more than one person.</p>
<p>Crowley groaned, slouching even further into their office chair. They weren't supposed to be having <em> any </em> crushes on <em> any </em> persons. Their eyes trailed across the shelves, over the books on architecture and fashion and art, over their Lego James Bond car (over 1,200 pieces, that), and to the small tin of biscuits tucked unobtrusively in the corner.</p>
<p>They'd been curious what sort of biscuits the ghost fancied and so when he'd fled the market Crowley bought them. They couldn't bring themself to take it home though, that felt...somehow more invasive than buying the man's biscuits. They also couldn't bring themself to eat them and discover that he liked something that tasted like cardboard so the tin sat, guarded by an empty bond car, and mocked them.</p>
<p>Their phone buzzed gently and Crowley practically lunged for it, desperate for a distraction. It was from Anathema.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[4:32pm] </b>Hey, is it cool if i bring someone to the show?</p>
  <p>Sure <b>[4:32pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[4:34pm] </b>Good cause I already told him he could come</p>
  <p>He know it's a university thing?<b> [4:34pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[4:35pm] </b>Yeah, he knows the kids. And he loves Fallen so win-win</p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>Crowley vaguely remembered her mentioning a friend who consistently came to the gallery. They hoped he wasn't weird.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>yeah alright <b>[4:38pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>And then, because they desperately needed a distraction</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I think i might have a new years thing <b>[4:39pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[4:42pm] </b>Really? You hate hosting parties</p>
  <p>which is why i distinctly said a THING <b>[4:42pm]<br/>
</b>not a party <b>[4:42pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[4:45pm] </b>The difference being??</p>
  <p>less than ten people, ideally <b>[4:45pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[4:47pm] </b>Ok<br/>
<b>[4:47pm] </b>I dont hav eanything planned</p>
  <p>oh did you think i was INVITING you?? <b>[4:47pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[4:48pm] </b>Fuck off</p>
  <p><span class="x1F61C"><span class="hide">(Face With Stuck-Out Tongue And Winking Eye )</span></span> <b>[4:48pm]<br/>
</b>it's going to be roaring 20s themed <b>[4:51pm]<br/>
</b>ive just decided<b> [4:51pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[5:02pm] </b>Fine but I'm coming as thomas shelby</p>
  <p>!!! <b>[5:02pm]<br/>
</b>i would pay hard cash to see you cut your hair to that<b> [5:02pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[5:07pm] </b>You know ive been thinking of an undercut actually?</p>
  <p>DO IT<b> [5:07pm]<br/>
</b>Anathema <b>[5:07pm]<br/>
</b>anathema PLEASE <b>[5:07pm]<br/>
</b>anathema it would look SO GOOD do it <b>[5:08pm]<br/>
</b>not the shelby <b>[5:08pm]<br/>
</b>but just like <b>[5:08pm]<br/>
</b>hol don im going to find pics <b>[5:09pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>And so Crowley gleefully spent the next hour hunting down the perfect new hypothetical haircut for Anathema.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale <em> liked </em> working in a bookshop. Nay, he <em> loved </em> it. He loved opening especially. Loved to be the first one to step in, to be greeted by that mixture of slightly stuffy air and pages. They were largely a used book store and so there was a certain dust and yellowed pages musk that only the very good bookstores had. He always said "Good morning, shop" as he came in. He played some quiet music and set about counting the till for the day, seeing if there were any customers that needed calling about books that were ordered for them, emails to check (he never responded, it turned out most thought he was an automated message and would call in to speak to a 'real' person, and so he just checked for anything urgent and left the rest for Bee or Dagon), and then he dusted. Rearranged a few of the forward facing displays. Smelled some of the candles. His current favorite was a verbena and eucalyptus blend. Then at 10:00am precisely, he unlocked the door and flipped the sign.</p>
<p>He even liked talking to customers. Provided they were one at a time and patient, it was alright usually. He almost <em> always </em> had a recommendation to offer, was genuinely excited to hear what a customer had to recommend, and truly relished the task of helping them track down that <em> one </em> title that they really only kind of remember the author's last name and maybe there was a snake  on the cover?</p>
<p>It was, then, truly unfair that his love of his job and his love for the holiday season were not enough to create within him a love for Holiday Season Customers™. Oh the regulars were alright. In fact more often than not they'd already completed all their shopping. It was everyone else.</p>
<p>The morning of December 1st always felt like the start of the Hunger Games for him. Suddenly everyone remembered they had to purchase gifts for their family members and friends. Which meant asking to order the latest bestseller which was sold out everywhere because that's how one becomes a <em> best seller </em> . It meant explaining that despite their meager offerings of puzzles and brainteasers and the like, they were still a bookstore and no they didn't have a single card to wield against humanity. It meant every Sunday there was a Santa reading "The Night Before Christmas" and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" and some iteration of Rudolph. It meant so. Many. Copies of Goodnight-Bloody-Moon. It meant endless Bublé and Carey and Wham! because Beelz loved Christmas music but was also apparently a demon from the deepest pits of hell because they loved the ones with <em> words </em>. They genuinely hummed along. It was confounding.</p>
<p>And on one truly memorable night it meant the sharply dressed young man who asked, “Do you have that one play by the old guy?”</p>
<p>Which old guy?</p>
<p>"The dead one."</p>
<p>Please be more specific.</p>
<p>"The old dead white guy, <em> god </em>."</p>
<p>It took a moment to realize they didn't actually mean God and weren't, in fact, asking for the Bible.</p>
<p>"He wrote like a <em> bunch </em> of plays, everyone reads them even though they make like <em> no sense, </em> brah. They're like, super convoluted, my dude."</p>
<p>They had closed ten minutes ago, Bee ringing up the last few customers and Aziraphale could feel the words on the tip of his tongue. Tight smile in place, <em> My dear, are you fucking with me? </em> clattered against the back of his teeth. It must have echoed because Dagon slid up and asked Aziraphale for help with some menial task on the other end of the store. Which he fairly ran to do.</p>
<p>By the time he clocked out for the day he was desperate for a good soak and a strong cup of tea. He hadn’t been to the gallery since before Thanksgiving, but he told himself that was okay, he’d get to go on the 10th. He tried not to think about meeting the owner, then the nerves would bubble up. Instead, he thought about his siren. He entertained the thought of them being there for the event. It was a safe fantasy because it wouldn’t happen. The event was closed to the public, invitation only, so there was no reason for them to be there. Aziraphale could daydream about walking into Fallen and seeing them standing there, a piece of art in and of themself, and he wouldn’t feel the nervousness rise.</p>
<p>He was quite good at finding those sort of loopholes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Monday.<br/>
December 10th, 2019.</p>
<p>The kids start arriving around 3pm. Crowley didn't even bother opening for the day, opting instead to lounge in bed until noon at which point they got up and lounged on the couch. They arrived at the gallery around the same time as the kids and their professor. From there it was setting up lights, making sure necessary outlets were readily available, a brief panic for a missing prop, and then they were well on their way to their cue-to-cue. At that point it was half past four and Crowley left the rest to Uriel so they could disappear into their office for a moment's peace.</p>
<p>Normally they enjoyed the excited hum of energy and nerves before a performance, whether they were the one performing or were in the audience, but today they just couldn't quite get there. It was all this business with the ghost and the bookseller. Crowley had enjoyed the brief moments they caught whenever they ran into each other. And that was the problem. They'd enjoyed it and it had been a few weeks now since they last caught a glimpse of the ghost. The reality that they might never see him again began to seep in.</p>
<p>The worst part was that they knew they wouldn't do anything different. Ask for his number at the grocery? At the cafe? Make some motion for them to get off the bus at the next stop so they could catch up? Ridiculous. They knew they wouldn't do anything because they <em> weren’t </em>doing anything about the Bookseller, were they? Every day was an opportunity to meet him, to befriend him, to win or lose the bet with his heart that there could maybe be something there. And every day they consciously made the choice not to.</p>
<p>It was too risky. They were too much. They'd been told, on many painful occasions, that they were too much. They fell too hard, too fast, and spilled too much. The best way to keep that from happening was to just not attempt anything at all.</p>
<p>Defenses raised.</p>
<p>Heart safe.</p>
<p>No unnecessary risks taken.</p>
<p>Crowley sank into their office chair, unzipped their boots, tossed them aside, and kicked their feet up and onto their desk. It hurt, but they'd get over it. A brief lapse of sanity, that's all. A quick dip into forgotten waters. It was nice. For a bit. To feel that catch of breath, the nervous tripping of their heart, the goofy grin. But it was done with.</p>
<p>No more ghost.</p>
<p>And no more bookseller, Crowley decided grimly. They weren't going to do anything about it and it was flat out masochistic to keep going back.</p>
<p>So.</p>
<p>That was that.</p>
<p>They stared up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>That.</p>
<p>Was that.</p>
<p>Someone knocked on their office door and they jumped. A peek at their phone told them it'd only been about fifteen minutes.</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>Anathema opened the door a crack, poking her head in, "Hey, house is gonna open in fifteen."</p>
<p>"Thank you, fifteen."</p>
<p>"Har-har, also," she lowered her voice a bit, "can I introduce you to my friend?"</p>
<p>"Oh! Right, yeah, I almost forgot about that, sure."</p>
<p>Crowley dragged their legs off the desk. They briefly considered putting on their shoes to be a little bit more presentable before ultimately shrugging and stepping over them. They did however bother to smooth out their skirt as they stepped around the desk. Their hands were still fiddling with their earring, which had gotten caught in their hair, when they reached the door just as Anathema opened it fully and their friend stepped in.</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>Yes?</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>The ghost stared up at them, eyes big and god, <em> so blue </em>, and Crowley realized their face hurt a little bit from how wide and hard they were grinning.</p>
<p>"It's you!"</p>
<p>The ghost let out a whisper of a laugh, "It's me," he said.</p>
<p>"Uhhhh," said Anathema. "Okaaaay. Crowley, this is my friend, Aziraphale."</p>
<p>"Yeah," Crowley said, a little breathless. "Azira--wait, <em> Aziraphale </em>?"</p>
<p>"I know, it ah, it's a bit of a mouthful but--"</p>
<p>"No! That's not, no, I, your books!" Crowley darted off to one of their book cases, "Look!"</p>
<p>The ghost, no, <em> Aziraphale </em>, followed behind them and watched as they removed book after book and shoved it in his arms.</p>
<p>"I've been, I've been reading your recommendations for <em> weeks </em>!"</p>
<p>"Oh!" he looked down at the pile.</p>
<p>"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to--"</p>
<p>"That's alright, I heft books around all day." And as if to prove his point, he easily maneuvered the pile into a stack, despite the jacket draped over one arm, and carried said stack with one hand over to Crowley's desk, where he set it down as though it were a piece of fine china.</p>
<p>It was him. It was the ghost. It was the bookseller. It was Aziraphale. Faintly, Crowley heard their office door close. A moment later their phone went off with a message. And then another. And another.</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked up from the books, “Do you need to get--”</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” He looked back down at the stack and ran a finger along the myriad tabs of marked pages. “Do the different colors mean anything?”</p>
<p>“Uh,” they swallowed, “the orange ones are passages and scenes that I liked.”</p>
<p>“And the blue?”</p>
<p>“Ones I thought...you might’ve liked when you read it.”</p>
<p>"I see." His fingers trailed over them and Crowley wondered if he would open up a book, flip to a blue tab. They wanted him to, to know if they were right, if they had successfully managed to glean anything of this person, their mystery bookseller, their ghost. Their Aziraphale.</p>
<p>"I have a confession," Crowley's traitorous mouth said.</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"I'm really, really relieved that my bookseller and my ghost are the same person."</p>
<p>Stop talking, stop talking.</p>
<p>"Why's that?"</p>
<p>"I was having a hard time reconciling having a crush on two different but equally fascinating people."</p>
<p>He let out a little sound. It was a sort of an 'ah' and a bit of a squeak, and he looked away, down at the desk, over at the other shelf.</p>
<p>Shit. Shit shit shit shit how could they back peddle that, how could they save it? How did they ruin things <em> so quickly </em>? Like their very breath was an accelerant and all it took as the faintest spark of their heart and there was another crater.</p>
<p>"You know," Azirpahale said, the softness of his voice somehow cutting straight to the center of Crowley's spiral. "I have to admit I'm relieved as well. That-that the owner of this gallery that I frequent so often and so often wondered about and," he cleared his throat, hands twisting around his jacket, "built up in my head..."</p>
<p>Oh? Crowley’s heart said.</p>
<p>"Has turned out to be the...the siren from the rave."</p>
<p>"Siren?"</p>
<p>"Well," he shrugged, "if I was your ghost you were...my siren."</p>
<p>"And you're relieved?"</p>
<p>"Mhm," he said, gaze catching Crowley's and then flitting off again just as quickly.</p>
<p>Crowley perched on the edge of their desk, "Is it...for the same reason as me?"</p>
<p>He looked up at Crowley, eyelashes fluttering and nodded, very quickly, very tightly, his face as red as Crowley's hair and heaven above if Crowley hadn't been smitten already that would have done it.</p>
<p>"Number. Phone. Your number phone." Would they ever be able to speak coherently around him? "I mean, if you want, if-I don't want to assume that-I just we keep barely catching each other and--"</p>
<p>"No I agree. It's a rather nice surprise when it happens but it might be nice to take a bit more control of our fates.”</p>
<p>Crowley snatched up their phone from their desk, swiping away Anathema’s barrage of messages, and clicked through to the new contact screen. They held it out to Aziraphale as he held out his own. It was a little thing, several models old. But it wasn’t a flip phone which Crowley realized they had half expected to see. When they swapped phones again Crowley snorted when they saw he’d put a little ghost emoji next to his name.</p>
<p>Before they could say much else though, there was another knock at their door and it took everything in them to not whine. “Yes?”</p>
<p>Uriel poked her head in, “We’re open. Going to start in ten minutes or so?”</p>
<p>“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, “I suppose I should get a seat.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s shoulders sank.</p>
<p>“Will you be joining us? The audience, I meant. Not...necessarily <em> me </em>…” he trailed off.</p>
<p>“Yup. Just gotta,” they gestured to their feet, “shoes.”</p>
<p>“Of course. I’ll...see you...then.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.” They watched him head for the door. “Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>Crowley didn’t have a follow up to that. They’d been thinking his name and how it suited him and how it was <em> him </em>, he was there, and it had just tumbled out. “Uh, the show is only just over an hour long.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Would you like to get some coffee after? It’s just,” no no no stop talking, “I don’t really want,” close mouth, stop sounds, “to stop talking to you just yet.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled, “I’d love to, my dear.”</p>
<p>Crowley definitely did <em> not </em> squeak.</p>
<p>They did, however, once Aziraphale was gone and they could hear his footsteps on the stairs, bury their face in their hands and nearly vibrate right through the floor. Then they did the sensible thing and checked their make-up. Shoes on, they made their way downstairs, finally checking Anathema’s messages.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[4:43pm] </b>EXPLAIN<br/>
<b>[4:43pm] </b>What was that GRIN when you saw him??<br/>
<b>[4:43pm] </b>You two have met??<br/>
<b>[4:45pm] </b>But you didnt know his name<br/>
<b>[4:47pm] </b>???i'm SO CONFSUED<br/>
<b>[4:47pm] </b>CROWLEY<br/>
<b>[4:54pm] </b>Omg are you two making out in there?<br/>
<b>[4:55pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>Crowley checked in with Uriel, with the professor, spoke with Newt briefly as he thanked them again for helping out with this, and then found a spot against the far wall opposite the stage to lean against. They’d left the seats open for the guests.</p>
<p>Anathema twisted around in her seat, glaring at him, and pointed at her phone. Aziraphale was next to her but happily chatting with Newt. Crowley opened their messages.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>It’s HIM!! <b>[5:07pm]<br/>
</b>IT’S MY GHOST!! <b>[5:07pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[5:07pm] </b>Your ghost???<br/>
<b>[5:07pm] </b>Wtf does that MEAN?</p>
  <p>From the rave! <b>[5:08pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[5:08pm] </b>Wait you were talking about a LIVING PERSON???<br/>
<b>[5:09pm] </b>WHY DIDNT YOU SAY SOMETHING SOONER<br/>
<b>[5:09pm] </b>ANTHONY JANE FUCKING CROWLEY ARE YOU KIDDING ME</p>
</blockquote><p>At that moment the main lights were flicked off, but not before Crowley caught a final glare from Anathema before she whipped back around to face the stage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a good thing Crowley had seen the show during the last dress rehearsal because they didn’t look at the stage not once. They watched Aziraphale, and his reactions, and the way the soft curls of his hair seemed to soak up all of the lights. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or laughed. And oh his laugh.</p>
<p>They were falling and there wasn’t a single thing to grab onto to slow their descent. They didn’t think they wanted to. It was warm and it was terrifying and they had <em> missed </em> that feeling. It was going to hurt when they hit the ground but hopefully that wouldn’t be for a while yet.</p>
<p>When the applause started at the end Crowley sprung into action. They whispered with Uriel, ensuring she felt comfortable handling closing things up. They spoke to the professor assuring him that Uriel would be around to help facilitate getting all of the things they’d brought in back out again. They told Newt to pass along their congrats on a show well-done. They slithered around Anathema who was talking with a few of the kids, and darted upstairs, grabbing their coat, purse, the tin of biscuits and, after a moment’s hesitation, fished out a book from the stack.</p>
<p>Aziraphale was staring down at his phone when Crowley slid up beside him.</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” he jumped, nearly dropping his phone, and seemed to shrink in a bit.</p>
<p>“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”</p>
<p>“That’s alright I, uh, it’s quite easy to do I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>“Did you still want to…?”</p>
<p>“Oh <em> yes! </em> I was actually debating messaging you as you seemed to have disappeared.”</p>
<p>Crowley gestured toward the door, “Shall we?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was colder out than Crowley had realized, already dark, and a bit breezy. It wasn’t a long walk to the cafe, but still. They shuffled their purse and biscuits to put their coat on when Aziraphale mumbled a quiet “let me” and gently took the tin from their hands.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he said when he fully looked at it, “these are one of my favorites! How did you know?”</p>
<p>There was a teasing sound to his voice that told Crowley he didn’t <em> really </em> expect an explanation. “I uh,” Crowley fumbled with their coat buttons, “I bought them after you left the grocery.”</p>
<p>His eyebrows shot up, “Did you really?”</p>
<p>“I was curious!”</p>
<p>“It’s still sealed.”</p>
<p>“I was also incredibly embarrassed about it.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale laughed at that. “Do you think Eric will mind if we opened it in the shop?”</p>
<p>“He owes me after that cannoli bit.”</p>
<p>“Yes, what <em> was </em> that about? I’ve been ever so curious.”</p>
<p>Ever so curious. Crowley thought they could listen to Aziraphale talk for hours and never tire of it. “He’d thought nothing rhymed with my name,” they explained, “I proved otherwise.”</p>
<p>“Ah. Hmm.”</p>
<p>A brief silence settled over them as they walked. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Crowley wanted to talk more, wanted to listen to Aziraphale talk, they wanted to never reach the coffee shop.</p>
<p>“Ravioli,” Azirpahale said after a moment.</p>
<p>“Got that one. ‘Holy’ too.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale fell quiet again, his eyes narrowing as he thought. Yeah, okay, Crowley could settle for watching that endearing pinch between his brows for a bit.</p>
<p>“It’s strange,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s like I’ve suddenly never read a word in my life. Surely there’s something else that rhymes with--oh--slowly!”</p>
<p>“Good one. And one that isn’t food finally.”</p>
<p>“I suppose I shouldn’t say ‘guacamole’ then.”</p>
<p>“Damn it.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale giggled, an honest to god giggle and it had no right to be a little sexy.</p>
<p>When they got to the cafe, Crowley held the door open for Aziraphale.</p>
<p>“Thank you, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Hey, Aziraphale!” Eric called out when he spotted them. “Oh, Crowley too!”</p>
<p>“Hello, dear,” Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>Crowley couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that apparently he used ‘dear’ for everyone.</p>
<p>“Hey, Eric.”</p>
<p>“Usual?”</p>
<p>“Yup.” They turned to Aziraphale, “What’re you getting?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Ah. I thought of it on the way over and I think I’m in the mood for a london fog, with just a hint of lavender if you have any.”</p>
<p>Eric nodded, punching buttons, and Crowley swiped their card.</p>
<p>“Oh! Did you just pay?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to get mine…”</p>
<p>“I know. Wanted to.”</p>
<p>He looked down, peeking up between those lashes. “Well...thank you.”</p>
<p>Crowley realized they could very easily become addicted to seeing that demure little smile. The hint of color on his cheeks.</p>
<p>The pair shuffled to the side and Crowley picked a table at random, already unbuttoning their coat.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>They looked up to see Aziraphale staring, face twisted in concern. Had he not wanted to stay? Crowley realized he was staring past them and they turned to look but it was just the hall, the bathroom, the rest of the store.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t realize there was a second entrance. Ah. Hmm.” Aziraphale scanned the sitting area, “Would it be alright if we sat over there? In the corner?”</p>
<p>“Sure. Go ahead, here,” Crowley held out the tin. “I’ll get our drinks.”</p>
<p>They watched him settle in, choosing the seat against the wall, little bits of information gently clicking into place in their mind. The fact that he couldn’t have his back to a door slid in alongside how he’d jumped in the gallery, which was already nestled in with how he’d jumped in the grocery when Crowley’s phone had gone off. Aziraphale pulled out their phone, typing away and Crowley set their mental puzzle aside as they reached for their own. It had been vibrating insistently in their pocket for almost the entire walk over.</p>
<p>Two missed calls from Anathema and several texts.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[6:28pm] </b>:O y ou left!!<br/>
<b>[6:28pm] </b>And ic an't find aziraphale!<br/>
<b>[6:29pm] </b>CROWLEY!!</p>
</blockquote><p>Before they could respond another message came in. And another. And another...</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[6:36pm] </b>Az just texted to say he doesn't nee dme to give him a ride home anymore??<br/>
<b>[6:36pm] </b>:O!<br/>
<b>[6:36pm] </b>Oh wait he said he's going to take the bus<br/>
<b>[6:37pm] </b>WHAT KIND OF SUITOR ARE YOU, OFFER HIM A RIDE<br/>
<b>[6:37pm] </b>..in your car. a RIDE HOME<br/>
<b>[6:37pm] </b>Crowleeeeeey i needto know what's happening i can't handle the suspense WHY HAV EYOU STOLEN MY FRIEND<br/>
<b>[6:38pm] </b>He said you're getting coffee??</p>
</blockquote><p>They glanced at Aziraphale, who was smiling at his phone.</p>
<p>“Here you go, Crowley,” Eric said as he set their cups down.</p>
<p>Well if she was getting updates from Aziraphale...</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p> <b>[6:39pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>They switched their phone to silent and grabbed the drinks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, what is your usual?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley settled into their seat.</p>
<p>They hesitated, a steady chant of ‘too much, too much’ going through their head. “Well, this time of year it’s...a decaf latte with uh, some flavoring.”</p>
<p>“What kind?”</p>
<p>“Uh, I get two pumps of toffeenut and two of hazelnut?”</p>
<p>“Oh that sounds <em> scrummy </em>.”</p>
<p>“Scrummy?”</p>
<p>“Yes, like these.” He slid the open tin over to them, “Try one.”</p>
<p>They were the powdered sort, and Crowley had to hold a hand under their mouth for all the dust it was leaving, but they were just the right amount of too-sweet. “They’re good.”</p>
<p>“Told you,” Aziraphale said, fussing with the teabags in his cup. “Scrummy.”</p>
<p>"Alright, scrummy it is." Crowley took another while they struggled to think of something to talk about. It was so easy to sit with him, to talk with him. They felt...at ease, a tension leaving their shoulders that they hadn't realized was there, or at least had learned to ignore. Now that their heart had finally managed to settle into something resembling a normal rhythm, and they seemed able to make complete sentences, they didn't know <em> what </em> to say. Asking about his name was too obvious. Surely everyone that met him asked what it meant. Biscuit finished, they took a sip of their still-too-hot drink to continue stalling.</p>
<p>"So you've been reading my recommendations?"</p>
<p>"Yes! Uh, yes."</p>
<p>"Which did you start with?"</p>
<p>"Ghost of Thornwood Place."</p>
<p>"Oh yes, that was a good one. Incredibly sad ending I thought. Realistic, but very sad."</p>
<p>"Honestly I cried."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Yeah but, you know, show me a picture of a sad enough looking cat and I'll cry so..."</p>
<p>"What did you like about it? Or did you like it? It's alright if you didn't."</p>
<p>Crowley sat back, turning to reach into their purse. "You know...I was kind of hoping you'd ask that."</p>
<p>They pulled the book out and set it on the table and Aziraphale <em> squealed </em>. He continued to wiggle in excitement as he pulled the book toward him and flipped open to the first orange tab.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t fallen asleep on his couch and was dreaming. Even if he was, he thought he’d enjoy it while it lasted. Here was the siren, his siren, his <em> Crowley </em> sitting across from him and reading over a passage they’d marked in a book and explaining what they’d thought and felt and oh, there they went, flipping through to another marked section that helped support whatever point they were making about the narrative structure and Aziraphale was trying so hard to listen, he <em> was </em> but, well, surely this wasn’t real? Crowley had seemed genuinely happy to see him on the other side of that door, had asked to keep seeing him after the show, hadn’t said anything unkind when he requested a different table. They were so kind and beautiful and struggled a bit with their words when their nerves got the best of them and they’d been reading <em> his </em> recommendations.</p>
<p>It wasn't real. It couldn’t be. Any moment he would blink and realize he’d been staring at his toothbrush for the past hour.</p>
<p>A loud thunk made him jump, tearing his eyes from Crowley’s fingers as they trailed over the pages and to the source of the sound. Eric was putting up chairs.</p>
<p><em> Oh </em>.</p>
<p>“Is it that late already?”</p>
<p>“Uhh,” Crowley wriggled their phone out of some hidden pocket, “yeah, five to eight.”</p>
<p>“We ought to,” he gestured to their dishware and crumbs.</p>
<p>The two of them cleared off their table, returning their cups to the counter. Aziraphale didn’t want the night to end but he wasn’t the sort confident enough to invite Crowley over. And besides, he had to be in bed soon and by the time he got home, oh his routine was all out of sorts now. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the end of the world. He just wouldn’t read before bed is all.</p>
<p>He buttoned his coat, Crowley already holding the door open for him. “So sorry for staying this late, Eric.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright!” Eric called from somewhere down the hall, followed by the sound of a lock being turned. “I don’t mind so much when it’s clearly a first date that’s going well.”</p>
<p>Crowley choked on air.</p>
<p>“Ah. Right,” Aziraphale said. “Uh, have a good night.” The cold night air did wonders for his flushed cheeks.</p>
<p>“Can I offer you a ride home?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no that’s alright. My bus stop is just over there.”</p>
<p>“You sure? It’s no problem, I’m parked by the gallery.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale shook his head. He wasn’t sure how to explain that he very much wanted to keep spending time with Crowley but he also very much needed the short bus ride home to sort his thoughts and feelings before being deposited on his doorstep. “I’m sure,” was all he managed.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Crowley didn’t push it. “Walk you to the bus then?”</p>
<p>“I’d like that.”</p>
<p>The shelter was full with people huddled against the chill. “You don’t have to wait with me,” Aziraphale said, noting the way Crowley hunched their shoulders against the wind.</p>
<p>“I don’t mind. Unless, do you want me to go? I will if that’s what you want.”</p>
<p>“You look cold.”</p>
<p>“I am cold. Doesn’t answer my question though.”</p>
<p>“Well no, I don’t want you to go. I want you to be warm. And you still have a walk back to the gallery for your car, yes?”</p>
<p>They made a quiet mumble of agreement, a slight bounce added to their shifting weight.</p>
<p>“Oh for heaven’s sake, Crowley. Go back to your car and get warm. The bus will be here before you even get to the gallery.”</p>
<p>Crowley considered that. “I am pretty cold.”</p>
<p>“Go on then!”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright. Uh. I’d...like to do this again sometime?”</p>
<p>“Me too.”</p>
<p>Crowley smiled, their already red cheeks somehow getting redder. And then a gust of wind blew by and they yelped.</p>
<p>“Go,” Aziraphale said, flapping his hands at them. “Shoo!”</p>
<p>He watched Crowley until they disappeared around a corner. Any moment he’d wake up. He shifted his weight. The bus came. He settled into a seat. All still...very much awake.</p>
<p>God, it was real wasn’t it?</p>
<p>Aziraphale retrieved his phone, reading over his last few messages with Anathema.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Hello, my dear. I appreciate your offer but I don't think I'll need a lift home tonight after all. <b>[6:36pm]<br/>
</b>I'll likely take the bus. <b>[6:36pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:37pm] </b>Where'd you go??</p>
  <p>Crowley and I decided to get some coffee! <b>[6:37pm]<br/>
</b>I’ll admit I was so excited I forgot to let you know before we left, my apologies. <b>[6:37pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:38pm] </b>Have you two met before?? It sounded like you two have met?</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>He typed up a quick response.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>So sorry I missed this. Our orders arrived and we got to talking. <b>[8:04pm]<br/>
</b>As for us meeting before... I wonder if Tracy ever mentioned my well, my “siren”? <b>[8:04pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>It was a few minutes before he got a response but when he did they seemed to just keep coming.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[8:09pm] </b>OHMYFUCKINGODS<br/>
<b>[8:09pm] </b>CROWLEY IS THE SIREN?!?!<br/>
<b>[8:09pm] </b>ARE YOU SHITTING ME?<br/>
<b>[8:09pm] </b>OMG I SHOULD'VE PUT THA TTOGETHER<br/>
<b>[8:10pm] </b>FUCK<br/>
<b>[8:10pm] </b>AZIRAPHALE CROWLEY IS AMAZING<br/>
<b>[8:10pm] </b>I CNA'T BELIEVE I COULD'VE BEEN WINGMANNING THIS WHOLE ITME<br/>
<b>[8:10pm] </b>AZIRAPHALE YOU TWO ARE GOIGN TO GET ALONG ~~SOOOO~~ WELL YOU'RE BOTH THE WORST<br/>
<b>[8:11pm] </b>BUT REALLY THEY'RE AMAZING PLEASE TELL ME YOU GOT THEIR NUMBER THEY'RE SUPER SINGLE<br/>
<b>[8:13pm] </b>dont tell them i said super single though they'll strangle me<br/>
<b>[8:13pm] </b>also forget i said they'd strangle me, they're actually very kind<br/>
<b>[8:13pm] </b>but also don't tell them i said that either</p>
</blockquote><p>When it seemed as though she had run out of steam he risked attempting a response.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>We did, in fact, exchange numbers. <span class="x1F60A"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Smiling Eyes )</span></span> <b>[8:15pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:16pm] </b>YEEEESSSSSS<br/>
<b>[8:17pm] </b></p>
  <p>Is...is that Elmo on fire? <b>[8:17pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:18pm] </b>It be like that sometimes, az<br/>
<b>[8:18pm] </b>Let's focus on the important stuff for now<br/>
<b>[8:19pm] </b>Like: are you going to ask them out? please tell me you're going to ask them out</p>
  <p>I don't know, my dear. <b>[8:20pm]<br/>
</b>I'm not usually one to make those first moves. And besides we did just get coffee. <b>[8:20pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:21pm] </b>Coffee barely counts as a date</p>
  <p>Really? I thought that was the first step? <b>[8:21pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:22pm] </b>NOT WHEN THE OTHER PERSON SEES YOU AND THEIR FACE SPLITS IN THE BIGGGEST GRIN I HAVE EVER<br/>
<b>[8:22pm] </b>and i mean EVER aziraphale<br/>
<b>[8:22pm] </b>SEEN ON THEIR FACE</p>
  <p>So...you think I have a chance? <b>[8:23pm]</b></p>
  <p> </p>
</blockquote><p>They’d reached his stop and so Aziraphale stuffed his phone into his pocket and shuffled off the bus. It was a few minutes walk from the bus stop to his building and he tried not to think about what Anathema’s response might be. He’d felt his phone vibrate before he’d even made it off the bus. But it was cold and late and he didn’t want to make a seemingly easy target of himself by staring at his phone, oblivious to his surroundings.</p>
<p>Aziraphale managed to make it into his door and locked it with one hand, his other fumbling for his phone.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[8:23pm] </b>DO GORILLAS BUILD NESTS?</p>
</blockquote><p>Aziraphale stared at his phone. He’d prepared himself for many reactions. This had not been one of them.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>...no? <b>[8:29pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:30pm] </b>YES!!</p>
</blockquote><p>He was even more confused now. He sat on the couch, not even bothering to take his coat off.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Yes...they don't? And therefore I don't have a chance? <b>[8:32pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:32pm] </b>No!<br/>
<b>[8:33pm] </b>THEY DO!</p>
  <p>Do they really? <b>[8:33pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[8:34pm] </b>yeah i saw it in a nature thing<br/>
<b>[8:35pm] </b>BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT<br/>
<b>[8:35pm] </b>YOU HAV EA CHANCE<br/>
<b>[8:35pm] </b>MORE THAN A CHANCE, I PROMISE<br/>
<b>[8:36pm] </b>Because AGAIN, i have NEVER seen Crowley smile like that<br/>
<b>[8:36pm] </b>Ive know them for like a decade az</p>
  <p>Well. We shall see. I think perhaps for now I will focus on opening and maintaining communication via text and we'll go from there. <b>[8:37pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>When he didn’t get a rabid response right away, he set his phone aside and went about hanging up his coat. Setting his shoes where they belonged by the door. He returned to his phone, plugged it in, and saw one final message from Anathema.</p>
<p>He stared at it.</p>
<p>He didn't know what… “greater than colon three c” meant and was honestly too tired to ask.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EEEEEE<br/>Man I feel like I should just warn y'all now??? This is like. The 'ahh when will they meet' bit was the extent of tension or conflict this fic is going to have. It's not over! Not at all! But there's also...no real plot?? It's just gonna be these two dating and ironing out their relationship. I just really wanted to read a good omens fic where the two of them actually TALK?? And communicate their feelings and concerns and wants/needs?? So that's what this is. There's just gonna be....so much talking lmao</p>
<p>&gt;:3c</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Whoo boy! This chapter is. Literally. MASSIVE. I don't know what happened. It's <em>9k</em> y'all.</p>
<p>It's a good thing everyone seemed super stoked last update when I said this fic was just a whole lot of talking cause uh *gestures vaguely*.</p>
<p>Anyway. I AM so glad, and relieved! That everyone had nothing but positive reactions to the notion of this just being a fic of them talking and discovering and building their relationship. I'm so excited to write it (I mean, <em> 9k </em>). A lot of hand-flailing went into this chapter, I hope you enjoy it &lt;3</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On December 11th Aziraphale woke up feeling well rested, a little hungry, and oddly <em> happy </em>. He wasn't entirely sure why, but there was a sort of bubble in his chest and he felt buoyant with it. A little giddy even. He made a light breakfast, showered and dressed, brushed his teeth, and then in the last few moments before leaving he checked his phone and his heart stopped.</p>
<p>He had one missed message from Crowley.</p>
<p>Crowley had sent him a message.</p>
<p>Crowley was his siren.</p>
<p>Crowley who was his siren had his number and had sent him a message.</p>
<p>His mind spun in that circle for a while before everything that had been lurking misty and ethereal at the edge of his memory like a dream suddenly came crashing in. He had to sit down on the edge of his couch with the force of it.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[9:13pm] </b>i had fun tonight :) </p>
</blockquote><p>Aziraphale stared down at the screen, at the little emoji. He wanted to respond but he wasn't sure what to say. He had also enjoyed himself but saying as much and nothing else seemed like a bit of a conversation killer. But then not half as much as saying nothing at all. ...Right? It was already a quarter after nine in the morning, surely he should have responded by now. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to until lunch and then even <em> more </em> time would have passed and then Crowley would think he <em> didn’t </em>enjoy himself and that he was only saying so because he didn't want to be rude.</p>
<p>He groaned. Why was this <em> so hard </em>? Aziraphale forced himself to punch out a response, hit send, and think no more about it.</p>
<p>He achieved two out of three.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>As did I! :) <b>[9:17am]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By Thursday he had still not received any further messages from Crowley and wasn’t sure what to do next. They had both expressed interest in going out again, Anathema had said he had a very good chance, it stood to reason that all he had to do was...ask Crowley out. But to where? He couldn’t exactly show them the gallery he’d been spending time in lately.</p>
<p>"Hello, love!" Tracy said when she spotted him in their usual booth. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then began the process of removing coat and scarf and gloves.</p>
<p>Aziraphale tried not to fidget.</p>
<p>"Were you waiting long? Shop's been so busy, packed to the rafters. Anathema sends her love, of course."</p>
<p>"Ah. No, not at all."</p>
<p>"Oh wonderful." She settled into her seat, bracelets jangling and fixed him with a knowing gaze. "Now. How are things with your new beau?"</p>
<p>He tried to smother his smile, "I-I would hardly say they're my beau, we've only gotten coffee the once."</p>
<p>"That's not how Anathema tells it. She says Crowley is head over heels smitten."</p>
<p>"Does she actually know that or is she still basing all of her assumptions on a single smile?"</p>
<p>"'Ear-to-ear grin of a madman in love' is how she described it."</p>
<p>"Well then why haven't we spoken since?"</p>
<p>"You haven't?"</p>
<p>"No!" He did start to fidget then. "And I don't know how to start up a conversation. I was rather hoping they would do it."</p>
<p>"You think maybe they're hoping you'll do it?"</p>
<p>He huffed. "Tracy, there is nothing about Crowley that says 'unsure' or-or 'insecure'. Why would they wait for me to make a move? I'm insecurity personified. Wrapped in tartan."</p>
<p>She pointed to his neck, "You've even got a little bow."</p>
<p>"Yes! Exactly!"</p>
<p>"You don't have to start by lunging straight into the next date. Why don't you just start a conversation?"</p>
<p>"About what? How?"</p>
<p>"Ask them about their day!"</p>
<p>"No, that's...well, it's weird isn't it? I don't know that we know each other enough for that."</p>
<p>"To ask how their day was?"</p>
<p>"It feels personal."</p>
<p>"Oh for heaven's sake, Azi. You two have the gallery and your books in common, why not start there? Ask about one of the pieces in the showroom. Or one of your books."</p>
<p>"We spent our coffee date talking about one of my recommendations, I don't want them to think I only want to talk about myself, you know."</p>
<p>"Azi I don't think anyone puts quite that much...analysis into it."</p>
<p>"Hmm."</p>
<p>A server came by and they both apologized for not quite being ready and fumbled with their menus. He <em> did </em> want to ask about the gallery. He wanted to talk about every single piece in there. He wanted to talk about the ones that had already come and gone since he first stepped foot in. He wanted to tell Crowley about all the pieces he'd used to put together his image of them.</p>
<p>Aziraphale let his menu fall flat, "I can't just ask something."</p>
<p>"How else is a conversation going to start, love? How does any conversation start? When I first spoke to you in my shop, I asked you about the card stock you were looking at. How did you and Anathema start talking?"</p>
<p>He sighed, "She asked me if I was aware that my aura was drooping."</p>
<p>Tracy cackled. "Well there you have it! Just ask something. Anything. Don't think too hard about it. Go on. Right now, pick up your phone and type something up."</p>
<p>Aziraphale did as he was told. It took a few false starts but he finally wound up with something he thought appropriate.</p>
<p>
  <em> Hello my dear, I was wondering if I might ask you a question about the Halloween event? </em>
</p>
<p>He held out his phone for Tracy to read it.</p>
<p>"It's a little stiff but you'll get there."</p>
<p>"Stiff?"</p>
<p>"I don't text but I don't think you have to say 'hello' whenever you send one."</p>
<p>"I always say hello. It's rude to just start a conversation without a greeting."</p>
<p>"Alright," she said, turning back to the menu.</p>
<p>"And I made sure to give them an opportunity to say 'no' but also enough information about the nature of my question so as not to cause worry, rather than just saying 'I have a question'."</p>
<p>"Well okay then. So hit send."</p>
<p>He looked at his phone. His thumb hovered over the button. "I can't," he sighed. "I can't do it."</p>
<p>"Hmm, let me see?"</p>
<p>He turned the phone towards her once more.</p>
<p>"How about..." Tracy tapped the screen.</p>
<p>"What did you do?"</p>
<p>"I hit send."</p>
<p>"You <em> what </em>?" He jerked the phone away. Sure enough. Sent. "Tracy!"</p>
<p>"Love, the universe can push you two together but so far, you're practically nose to nose already!"</p>
<p>Oh no. Oh dear.</p>
<p>He set his phone face down on the table and took a frantic sip of his water. Which he swallowed wrong in his haste and spent a good minute coughing for it.</p>
<p>"Oh dear. Oh no. I don't. What am I going to do?"</p>
<p>"You wait for them to respond and then, here's the tricky bit, you ...respond back. This bit of verbal tennis is called <em> talking </em>."</p>
<p>"Very amusing, my dear but you don't understand--"</p>
<p>"You're right, I don't. I've <em> never </em> understood the point in getting all," she gestured at him, "flappity over having a conversation with someone you fancy. Just talk. Talk about the things you like. Ask what they like. And then, if you're very lucky, some of those things will meet in the middle. Azi, you've done this before, I know you have."</p>
<p>"I have it's just...it's been so long. And the last one, well, you know how that went."</p>
<p>"I do, love, I'm sorry. But you have to believe me that you're an interesting man," he scoffed, "with interesting things to share and this Crowley is <em> interested </em>. So just...be yourself."</p>
<p>"Unfortunately being myself is hiding in my flat, reading and waiting for the universe to--"</p>
<p>His phone vibrated, rattling against the table top.</p>
<p>"Oh no."</p>
<p>"Oo, do you think it's them?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. I can't-I can't look. You do it."</p>
<p>She slid the phone over to her. “They said, ‘Sure’."</p>
<p>"Oh."</p>
<p>She turned the phone towards him and he took it. There it was.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[2:13pm] </b>sure</p>
</blockquote><p>"You know what this means, don't you?"</p>
<p>"I've upset them."</p>
<p>"Wh-how have you reached that conclusion?"</p>
<p>"There's no smiley face."</p>
<p>"Oh Azi--"</p>
<p>"No no! This is a thing, I promise you. It's-there's a whole dialect, well I don't know if that's even the right word, but, there's <em> rules </em>, Tracy. And all of them near unspoken. I've barely scratched the surface myself. I don't understand half of what Anathema texts me."</p>
<p>She sighed.</p>
<p>"And so, even if they aren't upset, then their guard might be up."</p>
<p>"Or," Tracy said, "you both sent smiles in each of your last messages and if this were playing in real time you'd both look like a bunch of grinning maniacs."</p>
<p>"But it's <em> not </em> happening in person and the rules are different."</p>
<p>"Oh for goodness sake. Aziraphale. I care for you deeply, you know that don't you? I love you so very much."</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>"So you know what I'm about to say comes from that deep, deep place of love, yes?"</p>
<p>"Oh dear."</p>
<p>She reached over and closed her hands over his. "You will lose this if you don't act. I understand the last one was a right arsehole and I hope his dick melts off and slips right into the sewer."</p>
<p>"Oh dear."</p>
<p>"But you cannot sit here and watch opportunities pass you by. This Crowley sounds like a wonderful person and I <em> know </em> you are a wonderful person and you have been so very fortunate in that the universe has gently nudged you two together over and over for the past few <em> weeks </em>. But the universe is not going to come down here and write your texts for you. And eventually She will get tired of trying to encourage you to do it yourself."</p>
<p>"I'm so afraid of doing the wrong thing, Tracy. Of saying the wrong thing of being the wrong--"</p>
<p>"You aren't. And you won't. And I know that you think those things largely because of He Who Shall Not Be Named but Whose Foreskin Ought To Get Caught In His Zipper For All of Eternity--"</p>
<p>"Oh my."</p>
<p>"But he was wrong. Not you. And even if you do manage to upset your beau you'll talk about it, because that's what you do."</p>
<p>"That also wasn't...appreciated."</p>
<p>"And now we know not to waste our time on walking cesspools, yes? If they don't want to talk to you about your feelings or their own feelings, then walk away. At least you'll know that you tried and they weren't worth it, which is so much better than wondering what could have been, isn't it?"</p>
<p>He sighed. "I suppose."</p>
<p>"Now," she patted his hands and tapped the phone with a painted nail, "why don't you type out a response and, if you like, I can help you with these first few ones, yeah?"</p>
<p>"I would like that. Thank you, Tracy. You sure you don’t mind? I don't want to ruin our lunch--"</p>
<p>"You aren't ruining anything. I offered. And besides it's fun! Go on then!"</p>
<p>He opened up his messages.</p>
<p>
  <em> I was wondering if your dance at the rave meant anything? I rather thought it told a story and I was wondering if I'd been right. </em>
</p>
<p>He showed it to Tracy.</p>
<p>"Perfect! Look at you go. Send it!"</p>
<p>He did. And immediately set the phone face down again.</p>
<p>"Now, if they say no, they don't want to talk about it--"</p>
<p>"I've messed up."</p>
<p>"<em> No </em>, you asked a question and got an answer. That's all. What might you ask next?"</p>
<p>"Oh I don't know that I'd be able to ask something else if that were the case."</p>
<p>"Well what might you share about yourself then?"</p>
<p>"Um. Well. I suppose I could tell them about my favorite pieces in the gallery?"</p>
<p>"Perfect! You have a plan of attack and a back-up plan, I do know how you like those, and now we just," she waved at the server who had been lurking nearby, "enjoy our lunch. I"m thinking of that cashew salad I was eyeing last time."</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled, "If you try that I'll try that chicken club you were trying to convince me of."</p>
<p>"Look at you! So adventurous today!"</p>
<p>They made their orders and Aziraphale found he missed the oversized menu as now he didn’t have anything to hold onto.</p>
<p>"Yes well,” he said, “regardless of how any of this goes I'm ending the day with a rather large slice of chocolate cake because I've earned it."</p>
<p>"I agree, nothing wrong with--"</p>
<p>His phone vibrated.</p>
<p>"Go on then."</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[2:18pm] </b>what story did you think it told?</p>
</blockquote><p>"Oh no."</p>
<p>"What's wrong?"</p>
<p>He showed her his screen.</p>
<p>"What's wrong with that?"</p>
<p>"Well I don't want to be presumptuous."</p>
<p>"You aren't, they asked! And," she said, cutting him off, "If you're that' concerned about it then <em> tell </em> them that. Speak your mind. You'll have to eventually. I know you, you want this to be something and it won't be anything successful if you aren't honest, love."</p>
<p>He sighed. She was right. Blast it all, she was right. He thought of how Crowley hadn't questioned him on wanting to sit elsewhere, of how they hadn't made any commentary about how jumpy he was, they didn't even push to give him a ride home, a place where so often chivalry just hopped right into a disregard for boundaries. They'd been so kind so far.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I wouldn't want to over step. <b>[2:20pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>He showed it to Tracy who nodded enthusiastically, giving him a thumbs up as she sipped her water. He hit send.</p>
<p>He'd barely gotten his hands settled in his lap when his phone went off again.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[2:21pm] </b>you're not! i asked! i'm really curious what you thought</p>
</blockquote><p>"Well?"</p>
<p>"They said I'm not and that they're curious."</p>
<p>"Alright!"</p>
<p>"I'll just...take a moment to gather my thoughts."</p>
<p>Aziraphale set his phone aside and not a moment later their server appeared with their food. Which was actually <em> very </em>good. The chips were just the right amount of salty and the aioli was perfect. It was enough to distract him from his texting woes and then he and Tracy got to talking about the holidays, her plans with Shadwell, their latest nightmare customer. He didn't forget, of course, not with the phone just sitting there on the table, taunting him. He thought of what he wanted to say in the back of his head and reworded and rephrased and went over them over and over again until there wasn't any margin for error.</p>
<p>"Excuse me just a tic, love. Gonna run to the ladies room."</p>
<p>"Yes, of course."</p>
<p>He waited until she disappeared around the corner before snatching up his phone.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Sorry for the delay, had to gather my thoughts. I thought it was rather sad. It was, to me, a story about oppression. I don't know if that's on the larger, societal scale or if it was something more personal. But it was certainly about being held down, or back, or away. Consistent obstacles and even more persistent determination. It was sad, but also very beautiful. I'm almost sad I ruined it, I wonder how it would have ended had I not been in the way. <b>[2:43pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>Tracy reappeared just as he hit send.</p>
<p>"Everything alright?"</p>
<p>"I think so, I think I've got it from here. I'm sorry I'm such a mess."</p>
<p>"Oh Azi, not at all. We all have our insecurities, I'm sure your Crowley has their own, despite what you may think. Just remember, you two have clearly been thinking about one another all this time having barely spoken!"</p>
<p>"That <em> is </em> what I'm thinking about, to be perfectly honest. What if now that we <em> are </em> talking they discover I'm rather boring? And plain."</p>
<p>"I don't think you're boring and--" she pressed, cutting him off once again, "even if you <em> were </em>, maybe they like boring. Maybe they want to come home to boring and plain and have a boring home made dinner and some plain old wine and, well, hopefully not boring and plain old sex--"</p>
<p>"Tracy!"</p>
<p>She shrugged and smiled, completely unrepentant. Aziraphale hadn't let himself get that far in his daydreams. He'd gone as far as hand-holding, that was it. He didn't know what Crowley did or didn't like. They may not like physical intimacy. Which was fine, but Aziraphale didn't want to get his mind spinning down paths that weren't going to happen.</p>
<p>His phone went off and Tracy raised her eyebrows.</p>
<p>"I'm still at lunch with you," Aziraphale said, ignoring his phone. "I appreciate your help but I'm not going to sit here and clack away, ignoring you."</p>
<p>"You may as well, I've got to get going, I've left poor Anathema alone with the holiday beasts for too long."</p>
<p>"Alright, but I'm paying."</p>
<p>"I won’t say no to that!" Once she was re-bundled, an absolute explosion of colors, her bright red hair and yellow scarf, with gloves to match, and orange fuzzy coat, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Good luck. And get yourself some dessert!"</p>
<p>Aziraphale certainly had no intentions to say no to that. Seeing Tracy leave, their server came in to check on him and he got himself a slice of their delicious chocolate amaretto crepe cake. Then he checked his phone.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[2:45pm] </b>you weren't in the way, and you didnt ruin it<br/><b>[2:45pm] </b>i guess one could argue you were a part of it</p>
</blockquote><p>A part of the ending? But was Aziraphale's presence a happy turn of events? He supposed that remained to be seen.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Did I guess right? <b>[2:47pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>A response came alongside his cake. And then another. Crowley texted like Anathema. That was fine, good even. He at least had practice with that. He placed his phone next to his plate and watched the messages come in as he tucked into the cake.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[2:51pm] </b> Eehhhhhh<br/><b>[2:51pm] </b> i mean <br/><b>[2:51pm] </b> i guess<br/><b>[2:52pm] </b> yeah kinda<br/><b>[2:53pm] </b> i like to say that dance is right up there with any other form of art and you can explain or define so much as the creator, but at a certain point it should be up to the viewer what they get out of it<br/><b>[2:54pm] </b> at least thats how i think it SHOULD BE<br/><b>[2:55pm] </b> there's def plenty of artists out there that have no problems sitting you down and telling you exactly what you're to get out of their piece, pixel by pixel<br/><b>[2:56pm] </b> to be honest i wasn't trying to tell a story<br/><b>[2:56pm] </b> i was just dancing<br/><b>[2:57pm] </b> i guess i was feeling pretty down though<br/><b>[2:58pm] </b>its interesting what comes out when just let yourself go for it</p>
  <p>And are you feeling better now? <b>[3:02pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[3:03pm] </b> i am<br/><b>[3:04pm] </b>now that we've met officially ;)</p>
</blockquote><p>"Oh!" Aziraphale could feel the blush creeping across his cheeks. How was he to respond to that? This was the problem with instant messaging, how did one convey a satisfied <em> wiggle </em>? He supposed he could send a winky face back but that seemed very flirtatious indeed.</p>
<p>Luckily another message came in before he could overthink it.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[3:05pm] </b> my turn to ask a personal question<br/><b>[3:05pm] </b>if that's alright?</p>
  <p>Yes, of course! Fair is fair. <b>[3:06pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[3:08pm] </b> are you out at work?<br/><b>[3:09pm] </b>it's just i thought about paying you a visit but didn't want to make things uncomfortable for you</p>
  <p>Oh how thoughtful of you to ask! I am, actually. I've been very fortunate in my work environment. Bee and Dagon, my coworkers, are absolutely wonderful. It wouldn't be a problem at all. <b>[3:10pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[3:11pm] </b>good to know!</p>
  <p>It's a good thing you didn't come by today, though. I'm off on Thursdays. Mondays too. For future reference. <b>[3:12pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[3:14pm] </b>i'll keep that in mind :)</p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale did, in the end, ask them how their day had been. They launched into a tirade about how utterly boring the gallery was during the holidays, most of their work was in meetings and emails and phone calls. Selling the odd piece here or there. And they asked about Aziraphale, which...gosh it felt so <em> nice </em> . It didn't feel too personal at all. He'd had Anathema or Tracy ask about his day or his weekend or the like, of course. But it was different with Crowley somehow. Crowley was his <em> crush </em>. It might be silly but Aziraphale felt like it meant more coming from his crush.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometime the following week Crowley made good on their promise to visit. Aziraphale was happily writing up a new recommendation, thoroughly enjoying the reprieve from various and increasingly salacious "Santa, Baby"s, (Bee had gone to lunch and Dagon agreed to let him change over to some relaxing instrumentals) when someone came up to the counter. He heard the clacking of heels and had hoped the sound would keep going past so he could finish his card but they came to an abrupt halt.</p>
<p>"Just a moment," he said, not looking up from the card. When he did, and saw Crowley standing there, hair loose and wavy, a shy smile on their face, he all but squealed.</p>
<p>"Crowley!" Alright, he may have squealed <em> a little </em>.</p>
<p>"Heya."</p>
<p>"Well what brings you in, my dear?"</p>
<p>"You."</p>
<p>"Oh!" He twisted the hem of his vest in his hands. "Well then."</p>
<p>"I was wondering if I could tempt you to some lunch?"</p>
<p>"Oh no," Aziraphale's shoulders dropped. "I switched with Bee today. Normally this would have been the perfect time otherwise."</p>
<p>"Ah," Crowley said. "That's alright. Uh."</p>
<p>They shifted. Aziraphale hoped they would make another offer. Maybe lunch tomorrow? Coffee later? He, of course, could make those offers but his tongue had apparently gone on strike.</p>
<p>Dagon came out of the office, yawning loudly. She walked behind Aziraphale, messed with something on the computer, and let out a loud sigh. "Gosh, I wonder what I'm going to have for <em> dinner </em> tonight. Hmm." And then she disappeared back into the office.</p>
<p>Aziraphale's eyes met Crowley's and they raised their brows.</p>
<p>"Do you...have dinner plans tonight?" they asked.</p>
<p>"I don't, no."</p>
<p>"Oh. Uh. Well, I-uh, ok guess that's fair. Wait, sorry, I can't tell if you're saying you don't know because you want me to offer or you're trying to politely turn me down..."</p>
<p>"What? Oh! No-no I meant. I don't.” He paused. “Period. No. As in no, I-I don't have plans."</p>
<p>"Oh!" They let out a heavy breath, their whole frame deflating a bit as they laughed. “Ok. So. Do you want to get some dinner tonight? Or if that’s too last min--”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not. I’d love to.”</p>
<p>“Great. I’ll uh, I’ll swing by at close? Pick you up?”</p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p>“Great.” They backed away, hands shoved deep into their coat pockets. “Perfect. That’s gre-no I already said that. It’s uh, just, tickety-boo, ‘kay, bye.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale watched them leave, his smile threatening to overcome his entire face. The door closed behind them and he turned to find himself face-to-face with Dagon.</p>
<p>“What,” she said, “was <em> that </em>? I mean besides a very near trainwreck.”</p>
<p>“Oh hush. It was nothing.”</p>
<p>“Nothing? Nothing, tra-la-la?”</p>
<p>“Wh--”</p>
<p>“Nevermind. I forgot you stopped watching movies when they got color.”</p>
<p>“Oh you.”</p>
<p>“Look, the only reason you even <em> have </em> a dinner date, is because of me. So I deserve to know just a little bit. Give me a name, at least. Where’d you meet?”</p>
<p>“Well…”</p>
<p>“I mean I can pester you about it, or Bee can.”</p>
<p>“Pester him about what?”</p>
<p>They both jumped. Bee had somehow perfected the skill of sneaking into the shop without ever setting the bell off, it was unnerving.</p>
<p>“Someone’s got a <em> suitor </em>.”</p>
<p>Bee’s brows shot up.  Zie slurped zir bubble tea. Somehow zie didn’t even have to say anything, just stand there, slurping, menacing despite barely being five-foot-anything.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright. We met, well technically we met first at a Halloween get together but weren’t introduced. And we met again just a little bit ago at a show at a gallery not too far from here. Their name is Crowley.”</p>
<p>“Oh <em> Crowley!” </em> Bee said. “They’ve been reading your recommendations for ages. Only <em> your </em> books. They come in and if you haven’t put anything new out they kind of putter and then leave again. I’d wondered if they were ever going to come in a day you were around.”</p>
<p>“Well they did,” Dagon said, “and it was possibly the most awkward thing I’ve ever witnessed.”</p>
<p>“Yes, alright,” Aziraphale said. He could only imagine how red his face must be. “I’m sure there’s something we could all be doing?”</p>
<p>“Right, right,” said Bee. Zie slurped. Chewed some boba. “So where are you going for dinner?”</p>
<p>The phone rang and it was a statement to his embarrassment over the whole thing that Aziraphale willingly answered it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale certainly, definitely, did <em> not </em> work himself up into a ball of nerves for the rest of his shift. He worked himself up into a tangle of nerves. Headphone wires left unattended in a pocket for one entire minute level of tangled. He spent the majority of his shift going over his nightly routine and how it was to change depending on what time he got home. If he got home at 8, what would get shifted around, cut down. If he got home at 9, what would get cut out altogether. Contingency plans for contingency plans, that was how he made it through the day.</p>
<p>How could he agree to a dinner date <em> that evening </em> ? He wasn't prepared for that. He wasn't wearing his best bowtie or vest. He hadn't thought to ask where they would go. What if it was a fancy place? Crowley looked like they would like fancy places. They looked like they could <em> afford </em> fancy places. Aziraphale had almost forgotten about the nerves that came with trying to pick an affordable eatery without being obvious that they were trying to pick an affordable eatery. </p>
<p>At a quarter to six Aziraphale was re-shelving a few books that had been left out haphazardly when he saw a sleek, old fashioned sort of car pull in and park just a ways from the shop. Aziraphale didn't know the first thing about automobiles, couldn't tell brake from gas, although he assumed it was the sort of thing one figured out very quickly, but even he knew he was looking at something very fancy indeed. He wasn't sure if antique was the right word. Collectible maybe?</p>
<p>And then the door opened.</p>
<p>And Crowley stepped out.</p>
<p>He felt, honestly and truly <em> felt </em> his jaw drop.</p>
<p>Oh they were certainly going to want to go to a fancy place.</p>
<p>They came around, leaning on the passenger side door, poking at their phone.</p>
<p>"Oh <em> shit </em>," Bee said, suddenly appearing beside Aziraphale, who, of course, jumped.</p>
<p>"Bee!"</p>
<p>"We're empty. That is a <em> nice </em> car."</p>
<p>"Yes. Yes it is."</p>
<p>Bee turned to him, "Really? I didn't think you knew--"</p>
<p>"Oh, I don't. Not the first thing. But I have <em> eyes </em>, Bee. It's sparkling for goodness sake."</p>
<p>"I want to lick it."</p>
<p>"<em> What </em>?"</p>
<p>"What? That's an appropriate reaction to that car."</p>
<p>Aziraphale had his doubts but before he could say anything Dagon shuffled up behind the two of them, resting her chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder, "What're we looking at? Oh <em> nice </em>."</p>
<p>"Perhaps you two ought to go out with them."</p>
<p>"I mean..." Dagon said. "I think Eric would understand."</p>
<p>"I'm just in it for the car."</p>
<p>Crowley looked up and all three of these very grown, very adult humans yelped and flapped and awkwardly shuffled around one another to move away from the very large and very unobstructed window.</p>
<p>At five-to Bee starting counting the till. "Zira, you may as well head out."</p>
<p>"What? Are you sure? I was going to get started on the sweeping."</p>
<p>"I can do it," Dagon said.</p>
<p>"If you're sure..."</p>
<p>"Go on," Bee said. "I'll clock you out before we leave.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, that’s very kind of you. Both of you.”</p>
<p>Bee hissed without taking zir eyes off the money zie was counting at a surprising speed. “Go on your fancy date with your fancy suitor in a fancy car."</p>
<p>“A fancy lickable car, I’ll be sure to tell them.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale took his time getting on his coat and scarf. It gave him an extra thirty seconds at most but they were thirty seconds he desperately needed. Once outside he considered, briefly, going in the other directly and never looking back. Crowley was looking down at their phone. Maybe he could say he suddenly felt ill? Had a family emergency? He left the stove on?</p>
<p>Crowley looked up, smiling that smile of theirs and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile back. His feet moved of their own accord, pulling him closer to his wonderful, wonderful siren.</p>
<p>"Hey you," they said.</p>
<p>"Hello, there."</p>
<p>"So," they said, "I didn't think to actually ask where you might want to go before I made my very graceful exit earlier." Aziraphale smiled. "But I've pulled up a couple of options, couple of different cuisines. This one's got some great pasta."</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked at their screen. All they could see was a selection of food items, no prices. "Uh, could you scroll up a bit? I wonder how far they are..."</p>
<p>Crowley did and Aziraphale was able to see the shop's name, the distance, and the three dollar signs beside it.</p>
<p>"Ah. Hmm."</p>
<p>"There's others. Here, this one's a good thai spot."</p>
<p>Two dollar signs. He could probably swing that.</p>
<p>When he didn't say anything Crowley swiped to another option. "Uh, there's this one."</p>
<p>Back to three.</p>
<p>"M-Maybe the thai spot?"</p>
<p>"You don't sound convinced."</p>
<p>"Well I just uh." He thought of Tracy's advice to speak his mind. She was right, of course. He did want something that would last, he wanted this to be something and they weren't going to get very far if he wasn't honest. He stole a sideways glance at the car. They clearly lived two very different lifestyles. "I um. Well to be perfectly honest, I don't think I can afford uh, some of those places."</p>
<p>"What? No, I'm paying. Sorry, I thought I said that."</p>
<p>"But you paid for the coffees!"</p>
<p>"And?"</p>
<p>"And well that hardly seems fair of me."</p>
<p>"I asked you out. Very last minute at that. I had every intention of paying for lunch, this is no different."</p>
<p>Aziraphale frowned.</p>
<p>"Aw, don't pout."</p>
<p>"I'm not pouting."</p>
<p>"You are a little. Look I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position. I have no problem paying for things, I like getting things for people. I get Uriel coffee almost every day, I don't care. It is, for me, just money. And I know that isn't the case for everyone so...I'm more than happy to pay for things whenever I can. It's like one of my, what are those things, affection...moves? Dialects?"</p>
<p>"Love languages?"</p>
<p>"Yes! That! I like doing things for people, it's how I show I care. And I'm in a rare position to actually be able to do that so...let me?"</p>
<p>"Well...I suppose."</p>
<p>“Great, in that case. What do you want to eat? Forget the places I showed you, just pick something, anything, what do you want?”</p>
<p>“I do like sushi…”</p>
<p>They grinned and opened the passenger side door, “Perfect, I know a great spot.”</p>
<p>The car was, somehow, even lovelier on the inside. Aziraphale shuffled a bit, fiddling with the seat belt. He was almost afraid to touch anything lest he leave a smudgy fingerprint behind. Proof of his plainness and softness and commonness smeared across Crowley’s life. He took a breath and tried not to focus on that.</p>
<p>When Crowley was settled in and they pulled away from the curb Aziraphale cleared his throat. “For uh, what it’s worth…”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“My main one is receiving gifts,” he said quietly, feeling his cheeks heat.</p>
<p>Crowley laughed aloud, fully tilting their head back.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The sushi place was indeed <em> very </em> lovely. Aziraphale felt his eyes go wide when he opened the menu. Crowley must have seen because they said, “Bup bup, whatever you want.” And when Aziraphale picked something he felt was reasonably priced Crowley only stared at him with a raised brow until he huffed and asked for what he <em> really </em> wanted. They grinned at that.</p>
<p>"So...last time we talked about your books and you got to see some of the passages I highlighted and--"</p>
<p>"Which was just wonderful, my dear. I don't often get to go over a work in such detail."</p>
<p>"Yeah? It wasn't too much?"</p>
<p>"Never! In fact I've been thinking about that stack you have in your office, I'd love to hear your thoughts on all of them!"</p>
<p>Crowley grinned a shy little grin, looking down to mess with their napkin. "Yeah, that-yeah alright. I'd like that."</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry, I think I cut you off. What were you going to say?"</p>
<p>"Oh, just that I was wondering what you thought of the gallery? Like, what were some of your favorites? If you had any. I'm assuming you did though, you kept coming back."</p>
<p>"Oh most certainly! That unicorn piece that was featured for some time always took up most of my visit, I kept re-reading the lines. Hmm, and there was that surrealist piece you had early November, the one with the patio? It was..." Aziraphale thought back to the muted colors, browns and oranges, the feel of desolation. "A little terrifying to be honest."</p>
<p>"Ah yeah," Crowley sipped their water. "That artist is heavily inspired by Beksiński. They had another piece I really wanted to display but I think it'd flat out give people nightmares."</p>
<p>Aziraphale didn't know who that artist was but made a mental note to try looking them up later. He was beginning to realize Crowley was far more educated than he was on things of that sort, and for as much as he'd been looking forward to discussing the gallery, he was now afraid of sounding like a rube. "Maybe you could do a, I don't know, a sort of themed showcase? For a short period? Upstairs? I for one would love to see more work like that, it’s scary but thought provoking. Although I can understand if it doesn't appeal to your general audiences."</p>
<p>"Eh," they said as they sat back. "Fuck the general audience. It's not like I charge people to come in. But you're right, I have thought of that. I almost did one for Halloween but I didn't want it to seem kitschy, you know? Like that art only has value around a certain time of year when people are tempted to scare themselves for a little thrill. Scare yourselves on a sunny afternoon in April, cowards."</p>
<p>A startled puff of laughter escaped Aziraphale.</p>
<p>"Sorry, I'm-I'm rambling. I do that."</p>
<p>"Not at all! I'll admit I'm not...well educated on different artists."</p>
<p>"Oh no, I don't expect you to be. I don’t expect anyone to be. Honestly, feel free to poke me if I'm going off on some boring tangent about well, tangents." They chuckled to themselves and Aziraphale could put together enough context to know it was some pun about art but he didn't know enough to get it. "It's, you know, I went to school for it and have my interests that I'm more familiar with. So it's going to <em> seem </em> like I know a lot but I really don't. I know like, the <em> big </em>ones, but on average I probably couldn't tell you the difference between a Rembrandt and a Vermeer. Weeell, maybe that's not entirely true now that I think about Vermeer's use of color. Annnd...I'm doing it again. I'm so sorry."</p>
<p>"Don't be! I think it's fascinating! Common interests and hobbies are all well and good, but it's wonderful to have differences that we can teach each other about."</p>
<p>"You've probably forgotten way more authors than I've ever even <em> heard </em> of."</p>
<p>"Possibly. I’ll admit I am looking forward to falling down a rabbit hole on google later when I look up these names. In fact," he pulled out his phone, "could you spell Bask..Bakinsk... oh, dear, I've forgotten it already."</p>
<p>Crowley laughed as they took Aziraphale’s phone and entered the names of a few artists. For once, Aziraphale didn’t feel like he was being laughed at, like he was the butt of the joke. So far Crowley had not once made him feel foolish or needy when he asked for specific things, even encouraging him to ask for more. It made something in Aziraphale squirm in a nervous sort of way. He wanted very much to be taken care of, he was old enough and clued in enough to his wants to admit that to himself, but now that he was actually being presented with the offer it was hard to accept. He felt like a cloying, needy thing. That is, until their food arrived and he let out a little “Oo!” at his dish and Crowley just looked so content and pleased at that. Like making him happy made them happy.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. “Not just for dinner but for convincing me to ask for what I really wanted.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” they said as they separated their chopsticks and set about pushing the wasabi aside. “You deserve to have what you want, what makes you happy. Everyone does. Life’s too short.”</p>
<p>“And I take it wasabi does not make you happy?”</p>
<p>They barked a laugh at that, “It does <em> not </em>.”</p>
<p>“I suppose the wasabi ice cream is not an option for dessert then?”</p>
<p>“Blargh. I mean it’s your mouth, do what you like but that’s going to be a hard ‘no’ from me.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale made a note to get something <em> else </em>then as he was rather hoping the night might end with a kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They spent some time chatting about the food, sampling a bit of each other’s arrangements. There was a bit of eel that Aziraphale was saving for last and every time he caught a glimpse of it on his plate he couldn’t help but smirk at it with a bit of a wiggle.</p>
<p>He looked up to see Crowley watching him with a fond smirk of their own.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You’re very cute.”</p>
<p>“Oh!”</p>
<p>“I...sorry. Can I say that? Is that allowed? I think I made it clear at the gallery that I <em> am </em> interested in you. Very much. I mean I hadn’t <em> intended </em> to say that. My heart and my mouth sort of mutinied on that one but…” They trailed off, poking a piece of gyoza.</p>
<p>“Yes. You can certainly say that. I mean I don’t know that I <em> agree </em> with such an assessment,” he chuckled, “I think I’m a bit silly. And plain. B-but you’re allowed to say it of course.”</p>
<p>Crowley frowned at that but didn’t say anything further.</p>
<p>“Um. I know you dance, do you also paint or-or sculpt or anything like that?”</p>
<p>“Ehhh, I’ve, y’know, dabbled. I wouldn’t say I’ve done anything worth writing home about,” they shrugged. “You?”</p>
<p>“Me? Oh goodness no. To be fair I’ve never honestly tried but I don’t know where I’d even start. I did think about it one day, what a gallery of my own might look like, what pieces would represent me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? What did you come up with?”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, nothing. It’s silly really.”</p>
<p>“I could argue that all art is.”</p>
<p>“Well...I do so enjoy black out poetry you see. And I thought, I thought about a sort of uh, I-I suppose installation is the right word. Um, with various pages hanging down and-and different messages on each.”</p>
<p>“What would they say?”</p>
<p>“Oh...uh. When I first thought of it I...I imagined. Hmm.”</p>
<p>Thank goodness at that moment their server came by, collecting their plates and asking about dessert. Aziraphale went with the mochi and Crowley got some sort of matcha brownie.</p>
<p>When they were alone again Crowley sat looking at Aziraphale with raised brows, clearly waiting for him to continue.</p>
<p>“It feels a bit silly now,” he said.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”</p>
<p>“I thought of, well, I suppose it was inspired by the unicorn piece and so I thought of similar messages that asked for help or, ah...company. Really. I’ve been a rather lonely person as of late. Uh, at any rate,” he pressed on, “I don’t know what book I’d use, I think that’s important.”</p>
<p>“Certainly. I like it. I’d put it up in a heartbeat.”</p>
<p>“Would you really?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. I’d been feeling the same way. Up until oh, a week or so ago? If I had to guess. Maybe around the tenth is when things took a shift.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale tried to keep his smile under control but it was so very hard when Crowley was sitting across from him, looking wonderful, eyes sparkling, and smiling at him like he was something worth smiling about.</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose the idea is fair game. I’m not going to do anything with it.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.”</p>
<p>And then their desserts arrived.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They talked some more about the gallery, about the bookshop. Aziraphale explaining just how frustrating the holiday season could be. They talked a bit about Newt’s kids. Before he knew it Crowley was paying for the bill.</p>
<p>“Can I offer you a lift home? Or would you prefer I get you a cab or something?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale stole a glance at his phone. It was barely 8 o’clock. He would still have time to settle properly and go through his routine. He’d spent all shift at work preparing himself for it, after all.</p>
<p>“A lift sounds wonderful, thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drive home was quiet, comfortably so. Well, until the little GPS marker on Crowley’s screen indicated they were getting close and suddenly Aziraphale remembered the wasabi conversation and that he’d sort of hoped for a chance to kiss them goodnight and had he eaten too much ginger, he’d probably eaten too much ginger.</p>
<p>They had to circle the block to find a decent parking space.</p>
<p>“Can I walk you to your door?”</p>
<p>“I’d like that.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale hadn’t had company in ages. His one-bedroom was a glorified studio really, and it suited him, but it wasn’t much for entertaining guests. It also wasn’t a very fancy building. The intercom system worked maybe half the time and the front shrubbery wasn’t much to look at. He watched Crowley take in the puce carpet in the hall and the sconces on the walls that aimed for art deco and landed just left of a 1950s motel. The elevator was the sort where you had to pull the inside gate closed and sometimes you didn’t discover it hadn’t latched properly until you were stuck between floors.</p>
<p>All in all, Aziraphale was a bit embarrassed by the whole place.</p>
<p>“I love these sort of elevators,” Crowley said once the gate slammed shut and they were moving.</p>
<p>“Really? You don’t think they’re a little...spooky?”</p>
<p>“That’s why I love them. Big spooky fan, me.”</p>
<p>“Oh dear.”</p>
<p>“That’s right, you’re not a fan of horror, are you?”</p>
<p>“Certainly not. Horror, suspense, thrillers. The whole lot of them.”</p>
<p>"But you said you liked those paintings."</p>
<p>"I can handle those because it's just the one image. And much of it is left up to my own interpretation. But an hour and a half of horror? No, that's quite alright."</p>
<p>They arrived on his floor and Aziraphale led the way. He noticed Crowley stop as they passed the potted plant on a small table at the end of the hall.</p>
<p>“Someone waters it, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“Yes but,” Crowley swiped the flat of their hand gently over one large leaf, and then another. “She’s dusty. Need more than just the bare minimum to thrive.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale watched them carefully dust off each of the plant’s leaves and check its soil. It was such a simple thing and yet it made him feel near to bursting. How was anyone that kind? That thoughtful? Could he really be so fortunate as to have them treating him with such kindness? Such consideration? He could hardly believe it.</p>
<p>Wiping their hands on their coat, Crowley joined him in front of his door. “This you then?”</p>
<p>“It is. Yes.”</p>
<p>"Well then. I'm glad you came out with me tonight. And uh, I guess thank your coworker, Dagon, right? For very casually dropping that dinner hint."</p>
<p>"Yes, Dagon. She ah, thought she was quite clever with that."</p>
<p>"Hey it got me a date, I can't really complain."</p>
<p>He smiled.</p>
<p>They smiled.</p>
<p>Aziraphale couldn't quite meet their gaze. Looking down at his hands or over at the apartment door, anywhere really.</p>
<p>"Okay. Good night, Aziraphale."</p>
<p>"Uh. G-good night." No no no no. "Crowley?"</p>
<p>They were already down the hall, by the plant. Curse their long legs.</p>
<p>"I um. I'm very interested in you as well. I don't think I said that, b-back at the restaurant. I mean I did at the gallery. Or, no," he thought back, "I didn't, did I? Well I'm saying it now. I um." He swallowed. God, his mouth was so dry. "I'm quite interested in you. I think you have something wonderful with the gallery, and you’re just so kind, and creative. And I think you're very handsome. Uh, beautiful? Attractive. Anyway, I'm not very good at asking for what I want. As I'm sure you've gathered. I-I'm trying to get better. But it's hard for me I'm, you see I'm, I'm a very scared sort of person. Scared of everything, really. It's hard for me to make the first move. Or even the third...or fifth. But. But that doesn't mean that I don't want to. Or that I don't want it. I just." He wrung his hands together. What was he saying? He was rambling. He couldn't remember what had started the tirade. Besides the thought that he very much wanted to kiss Crowley goodnight. What had he already said? "I'm not sure I'm making much sense. Do you...understand what I'm trying to say?"</p>
<p>"I think so," Crowley said, rejoining him at his door. They leaned on the frame a bit, smiling at him.</p>
<p>"Ah. G-good. That's good."</p>
<p>"Mhm." They smirked.</p>
<p>Oh they were dragging it out intentionally, the bastard. Aziraphale thought he was going to burst.</p>
<p>Finally, Crowley leaned in just a bit and whispered, "Can I kiss you goodnight?"</p>
<p>It took every ounce of resolve Aziraphale had to not squeal. He did nod rather furiously though.</p>
<p>Crowley took a step forward. Aziraphale didn't know what to do with his hands. What did he do with his hands? What had he <em> ever </em> done with hands before? He couldn't keep them pressed against his stomach, not if he wanted Crowley to come closer. He snapped them to his sides which was immediately better because the space was filled with Crowley's frame and immediately worse because <em> What did he do with his hands?</em></p>
<p>Crowley, however, seemed to have no such problem as one hand came up to gently cup Aziraphale’s face, thumb at the corner of his mouth, the other pressed against the doorframe as they leaned in.</p>
<p>Then their mouth was pressed against his and every bit of tension just drained out of his shoulders with a quiet murmur. They smelled a bit like lilacs.</p>
<p>It was a chaste thing. A gentle press of their lips, a slight shift, another press, and then Crowley was pulling back a bit.</p>
<p>"That okay?"</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled, feeling just a bit light-headed, "More than."</p>
<p>"Good," they said, and there was no mistaking the relief in their voice. "I've...I've been thinking about it for so long and I was afraid that when it happened..."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't live up to it?"</p>
<p>"What? No. No, I thought I'd mess it up."</p>
<p>"You? But you're--"</p>
<p>"Human, Aziraphale. Just like you. I have the same sorts of, y'know, insecurities and-and fears. I know I put on a good act but...please don't think I'm somehow free of those."</p>
<p>He looked down, gaze locked on one of the buttons on Crowley's coat. "You're right. I'm sorry. I...I was also just so afraid of messing things up. I...I'm not, no one ever really wants...nevermind. It seems I have, though. Messed up. Just not the way I feared."</p>
<p>"You haven't. I just don't want you to get into the habit of lifting me up while putting yourself down. While comparing us. It doesn't make me feel good."</p>
<p>He nodded, "Yes of course. You're right."</p>
<p>"I think you're cute. And silly. And incredibly sexy."</p>
<p>Aziraphale sputtered at that.</p>
<p>"I do. And I want you to think those things about yourself, but if you can't just yet, I understand. I do at least want you to believe that I see it."</p>
<p>He didn't think he could. He knew what he looked like. But he nodded anyway.</p>
<p>Crowley leaned on the door, "You know what I think we could do? We could intentionally mess up a kiss. Just get it over with."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Just messy, completely wrong, too much tongue, just ridiculous. Get it out of the way."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Sure, why not?"</p>
<p>"I. Well. Alright."</p>
<p>They pushed off the door, "Wait, really?"</p>
<p>"It was your suggestion!"</p>
<p>"No, I know! I just. I didn't, I mean, yeah ok."</p>
<p>"Okay?"</p>
<p>"Y-yeah."</p>
<p>Neither one moved. Both were trying to desperately school their faces into something other than a wild grin, giggles threatening to escape.</p>
<p>"Well?" Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>"Well what?"</p>
<p>"It was <em> your </em> suggestion."</p>
<p>"I initiated the last one."</p>
<p>"Oh for goodness sake!" Aziraphale took hold of the front of their coat and pulled them in. He lost all bravado once they were close though.</p>
<p>Crowley could barely contain their laughter. "So I'm just gonna, gonna go for it."</p>
<p>"That was the plan."</p>
<p>They leaned in and it was so different than before. Puffs of air escaping as they tried to wrangle their laughter down. The moment didn't feel charged like before, just silly. It was ridiculous and wonderful.</p>
<p>Crowley placed a much too-open mouth kiss, completely with 'aahm' sound effect, on the edge of Aziraphale's mouth and he thought he was going to dissolve into a fit right there. He reciprocated by turning his head and catching Crowley's mouth in an equally too-open, too-big kiss. He could feel Crowley's grin against his own.</p>
<p>He hesitated for a second before upping the ante but, well, it <em> was </em>one of the things they listed. And so, feeling about as ridiculous as he ever had in his entire life and somehow also having the most fun, Aziraphale slipped his tongue past Crowley's lips and then proceeded...to do nothing. Which, of course, sent Crowley into uncontrollable laughter.</p>
<p>"My dear," Aziraphale said, after pulling away just a bit, struggling to stifle his own giggles, "I am trying to seduce you here. I don't appreciate your laughter."</p>
<p>"Yeah, no, right, 'course. Let me just uh, let me."</p>
<p>Their mouth was on his again, or at least as close as they could get while still grinning like mad. And, then, well Aziraphale supposed he'd rather set himself up for it really, Crowley slipped their tongue into his mouth and did the exact <em> opposite </em>of what he'd done. Just, flailing about like a fish out of water, all while going, "blaaaghgghg".</p>
<p>It was pretty downhill from there.</p>
<p>Until it wasn't.</p>
<p>Neither could pinpoint when it happened but at some point the giggling subsided, the too-open, sloppy kisses became just the right amount of open, just enough to allow for the necessary intake of breath, which had become a little desperate, a little shallow. At some point it became clear Crowley knew exactly what to do with that tongue of theirs, coaxing little whimpers from Aziraphale. Or was it coming from them? It didn't matter. The edge of the door frame was pressed into Aziraphale's back, his arms around Crowley's neck as their hands held firm onto his waist, his hips..</p>
<p>"GO INSIDE!"</p>
<p>They both yelped, jumping.</p>
<p>"Christ!" Crowley said as they pulled back, looking around the empty hall. "Who...who said that?"</p>
<p>Aziraphale cleared his throat, desperately trying to push himself off the doorframe, straighten his bowtie, and catch his breath all at once. "I, uh. S-Sorry." He cleared his throat again and raised his voice, "Sorry, Frances!"</p>
<p>At Crowley's wide eyes he raised his hand to just about stomach level and tried to point subtly at the door across the hall.</p>
<p>"My neighbor," he whispered. "She sees <em> everything </em>. From-from her door and her front windows. I've never actually met her though."</p>
<p>"Aziraphale. That's <em> terrifying </em>."</p>
<p>He shrugged. It was Frances.</p>
<p>"Right. Well. On <em> that </em> note," Crowley said, still stealing nervous glances at the door across the way.</p>
<p>"Yes, I should head in. I have ah, bit of a routine."</p>
<p>"Yeah, course."</p>
<p>"Can I...uh, message you? Tomorrow?"</p>
<p>"Literally whenever you want."</p>
<p>"Ah. Okay. I will then."</p>
<p>They were smiling that soft smile at him again, even as they slowly backed down the hall toward the elevator. "Good night, Aziraphale."</p>
<p>"Good night. Oh! Do let me know if you get home alright." He hoped that wasn't too much to ask. They were adults. But things could happen. And he worried.</p>
<p>"I will."</p>
<p>Aziraphale made an effort not to stare at them while they waited for the elevator. He did take his time getting the door open though, giving a final wave before darting in and closing the door.</p>
<p>He hung up his coat and took off his shoes in a daze. He'd gone on a date, a proper date, with Crowley and it had been <em> wonderful </em>. And that kiss. Oh dear.</p>
<p>He flicked on the bathroom light and startled at his reflection in the mirror.</p>
<p>There were lipstick marks on his mouth, his cheek, barely-there smudges against his jaw. That was...new. He'd never been with someone before that wore lipstick. He ran his fingertips over his stained lips. Oh. He rather liked this.</p>
<p>Aziraphale went about his nightly routine. And if it took a little longer because he kept getting caught up in replaying various parts of the evening in head, that was hardly his fault.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey frens! Thank you so much for your patience as I went on a totally unplanned hiatus lol. A couple of notes: I've gone ahead and redone the tags on the fic. They were kind of a hot mess cause this was never supposed to be more than the first chapter XD They're all mostly the same as they were before, with a few additions, but I reorganized them so the pertinent stuff is first before my shenanigans.</p><p>For this chapter specifically, Aziraphale gets triggered by something and has a mild panic over it but its not from his POV so the description of what happens is very mild. Also there's a ton of comfort right after &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley thought about that kiss <em> a lot </em>. They'd had amazing kisses before, they'd had bad ones, they'd even had a few silly ones but nothing quite like that. Nothing that somehow managed to be an amalgamation of all three and still so perfect. They messaged Aziraphale when they got home, like he asked, which was sweet in a different sort of way. They weren't used to people checking in like that. Not for the things considered mundane. It was nice.</p><p>They had wanted to message him first thing in the morning. A hello or good morning maybe. Say they were thinking of him. But they didn't do it. They had to play it cool. Calm. They couldn't do what they usually did, couldn't go too fast, couldn't be too much. They didn't want to risk sending him running.</p><p>A small part of their brain pointed out that if being themself pushed him away, as it did so many others, then logically he wasn't worth it, and it was better to know that now than later. And Crowley thanked that small part of their brain and told it to kindly fuck off. Because at some point, if they were going to be “logical” about it, at some point they had to acknowledge that maybe it was just...them.</p><p>They tried not to fall too deep down that spiral and instead focused on how things felt now. And things felt good.</p><p>They spoke often over text. Aziraphale had such a careful and particular way of responding. Whole paragraphs against Crowley's line-by-line stream of conscious freneticism. They felt a bit self-conscious about it. Maybe they were annoying him. They weren't about to change how they talked though so, hopefully that wasn't the case. Crowley had, for the most part, gotten to a point in their life where they accepted the things about them that others had historically found annoying or frustrating or too much. That didn't stop them from feeling anxious about receiving a rejection or being gently ghosted though.</p><p>Aziraphale told them that the holidays were very busy for him and he would likely be hard to reach for a bit, as he tended to "sink into a hot bath and/or a glass of wine" after a long day. That was fair. Crowley understood that. And then once the shopping rush was over, there were the <em> actual </em> holidays, which Aziraphale would no doubt spend with loved ones, and then there was Crowley's New Year's thing which they'd not yet managed to work up the nerve to invite Aziraphale to, so in all likelihood they wouldn't see each other again until maybe a week or two into the new year.</p><p>Crowley felt their face shift into an angry pout that they would not let the plants tease them about.</p><p>As it got closer to Christmas, they considered getting Aziraphale a gift. Neither of them had mentioned gift-getting, and it was perhaps too early for that, and they had no idea what to get him (a book seemed obvious but there was no telling what he'd already read or owned), and so they spent all of their Saturday afternoon looking at various bowties online before they realized they'd spent their entire Saturday afternoon looking at <em> bowties </em> before giving up to flop dramatically onto their bed. They had to breathe. It was too much. Too soon and too much. Dial it back. Swallow it down. Be fucking normal.</p><p>They managed to distract themself with some popcorn and Krampus, they're phone alarm going off halfway through the credits. It was 6pm. Aziraphale was off work. And it was totally fine that they had an alarm for when Aziraphale got off work so they could text him and see how his day was because it was a busy time of year and he might appreciate the check in and no one had to know about the alarm, the plants weren't going to tell, they might cast judgemental shadows with their leaves but they wouldn't tell. It was fine.</p><p>They finished their credits, refusing to drop everything to talk to their crush. They had <em> some </em> dignity. Besides, he'd need time to close up and walk to the bus anway. Should they have offered to pick him up? They weren't doing anything and it was fucking frigid out. No. Too much. Too fast.</p><p>Instead they sent him what they hoped was a casual text.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>hope work wasnt too bad? <b>[6:13pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>They set their phone down. They should make some food. Do something to occupy their hands. Distract themselves. He might not--<em> bzzt bzzt </em>. Crowley's hand snatched the phone up</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[6:14pm]</b> I hate Santa.</p>
  <p>well that's a fast track to the naughty list <b>[6:14pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:17pm] </b>It's this "actor" the outreach center sent. He smells of cigarettes and his beard is unkempt. I don't like him. And besides, I've NEVER understood the appeal of some strange man coming into your house and leaving you things. I like getting gifts, I DO. But down your chimney? Couldn't he leave it in the mailbox like a normal person? On your stoop? And the whole, bringing your children to sit in this strangers lap and whisper in his ear, it's WEIRD.</p>
  <p>And he's not a very good story-teller. How do you deadpan How the Grinch Stole Christmas? I felt absolutely nothing for his poor Cindy-Lou Who.</p>
  <p>pffftt <b>[6:19pm]<br/>
</b> amazing <b>[6:19pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:19pm] </b>I do apologize, I suppose I've become a bit of a Grinch myself. Or a Scrooge.</p>
  <p>you work in retail, you're allowed it I think <b>[6:20pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:22pm] </b>I wonder who's worse? Grinch or Scrooge?</p>
  <p>Scrooge <b>[6:22pm]<br/>
</b> no wait <b>[6:22pm]<br/>
</b> wait i have to think about this <b>[6:22pm]<br/>
</b> No Scrooge, for sure <b>[6:23pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:24pm] </b>How so?</p>
  <p>the grinch was able to come around on his own. he saw the consequences of his actions, he saw how the whos chose to preservere and he made choices. Scrooge knew the consequences of his actions, saw how his employees well idk, maybe it was just the one guy but sitll, how they overcame and he STILL had to be visited by THREE fucking ghosts. THREE. as a last ditch effort. and one of them had to ALSO scare the absolute shit out of him to set him to rights. <b>[6:26pm]<br/>
</b> Scrooge is worse <b>[6:27pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:27pm] </b>Well I don't see how I can argue with that.</p>
  <p>but the whos as a whole were a bit lawful evil if you ask me <b>[6:28pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:28pm] </b>The whole society is lawful evil?</p>
  <p>from the grinch's POV sure! caroling at all hours, that's p rude <b>[6:29pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:31pm] </b>And so the Grinch would be, what? Neutral evil?</p>
  <p>chaotic, are you kidding me? <b>[6:31pm]<br/>
</b> the man stole EVERY. SINGLE THING. IN TOWN <b>[6:31pm]<br/>
</b> he took the hwats it caleld <b>[6:32pm]<br/>
</b> didn't he steal the fucking HOOKS that held up their PICTURE FRAMES? <b>[6:32pm]<br/>
</b> man's a loose cannon <b>[6:33pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:33pm] </b>He left the hooks and wire but he did take the log for their fire.</p>
  <p>so not only did he steal all their food but he stole their source of warmth <b>[6:33pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:34pm] </b>And you still believe Scrooge to be worse?</p>
  <p>well the grinch just tried to fuck up one night for them. Scrooge kind of screwed up entire lives <b>[6:34pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:35pm] </b>Fair point.</p>
  <p>Is the shop open tomorrow? <b>[6:38pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:38pm] </b>Yes, unfortunately. We're closed the 24th-26th. Which works out nicely for me, the 27th being a Thursday.</p>
  <p>i could pop if you like <b>[6:39pm]<br/>
</b> pop in* <b>[6:39pm]<br/>
</b> i mean just if you want to see a friendly face <b>[6:40pm]<br/>
</b> i know you'll be too busy for much else <b>[6:40pm]<br/>
</b> nvm i dont want to add any strees <b>[6:42pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p>Crowley stared at their phone. And kept staring. They buried their face in their hands. They were doing <em> so well </em>. After a few minutes they finally got up and started poking around the kitchen. </p><p>
  <em> bzzt bzzt </em>
</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><b>[6:54pm] </b>So sorry, my dear. Bit of a walk from the bus stop and my hands were too cold to text. I will be quite busy but I'll admit it would be nice to see you if even for a moment. I’d say we could do lunch but there’s no telling how the day will go, quite honestly. Provided it’s no trouble for you! I wouldn’t want to take you away from your plans or anything like that.</p>
  <p>nah, got no plans <b>[6:55pm]<br/></b>
 do you like hot chocolate? <b>[6:56pm]<br/>
</b> eric makes a mean cup of hot chocolate <b>[6:56pm]</b></p>
  <p><b>[6:57pm]</b> I do! <span class="x1F604"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Open Mouth And Smiling Eyes )</span></span><br/>
<b>[6:58pm] </b>Oh you’ve given me something to look forward to tomorrow, my dear.</p>
  <p>glad to hear it <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span><span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span><b>[6:59pm]</b></p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>* </p><p> </p><p>The shop was busier than any book shop had any right to be. And there were so many children everywhere, touching things and yelling and crying and<em> touching things </em>. Crowley didn’t know how Aziraphale put up with it but he deserved more than the measly hot chocolate they’d come to bring. At least they’d gotten the largest size.</p><p>Unfortunately Crowley could tell right away there was no chance they’d get to steal even a few moments with Aziraphale. He was behind the register and the line wasn’t getting any shorter. They snuck up to the far end of the counter where it was less busy and shifted over the display of bookmarks to set the cup down. Aziraphale glanced over and his entire face lit up as he grinned. He signed ‘thank you’ before turning back to the customer at hand.</p><p>Crowley was disappointed they didn’t get to say anything to him, or give him a kiss on the cheek like they’d thought about, but seeing his smile was well worth it.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>On Christmas day Crowley liked to walk down to the nearby park. It was usually freezing and the trees were bare but it was quiet and there was a small creek that ran through it. They liked to sit and watch the trickling water, maybe do a word search on their phone, catch up on some reading. If the weather wasn't terrible they'd even brought a sketchbook in the past. Just to doodle in. It was a nice alternative to sitting at home and sleeping the day away. (Which they would likely do once they got back anyway.)</p><p>It wasn't that they didn't like Christmas, they just had no reason to get excited about it. They liked giving people gifts, and they sent gifts to Hastur and Ligur, Anathema and Uriel and Michael and the other few friends. They wanted very much the kind of Christmas where they curled up with a loved one and had hot cocoa and maybe roasted marshmallows, watched some movies, exchanged gifts. Something warm and soft in that timeless sort of way.</p><p>Except they didn't have that so they went outside. Wiled away some time in fresh air, around people bustling to finish last minute errands, treated themself to cake somewhere nice, and went home. Sometimes it helped. Sometimes they felt full of cool winter air and that intangible something-ness of Christmas and they were content to go home and watch a movie, video chat with Hastur, and it was alright. And sometimes it made things worse. Sometimes they opened their front door to the quiet of the apartment and they left a trail of clothes from the door to the bed and they didn't get out again until the bathroom called or their stomach yelled loud enough.</p><p>Armed with a copy of Aziraphale's latest recommendation, they hoped it wouldn't hurt this year. After all, they sort of had someone. They weren't sure if Aziraphale would want to be considered their boyfriend or partner or whatever term he felt most comfortable with, but they were interested in each other and were seeing one another and that was good enough. More than.</p><p>The forecast promised snow in the afternoon so they made sure to get up early. It wasn't going to be that much colder anyway, and they wanted to get some reading done by the water. They considered taking a picture of their open book, the creek in the background, and sending it to Aziraphale. They hadn't asked what he would be doing for the holiday, but they imagined enjoying some time away from customers would be at the top of the list.</p><p>Crowley crunched through the snow. They hoped with the thermals on under their jeans they might be able to stay out a bit longer, really make the most of-- Someone was sitting on their bench.</p><p>"Fuck's sake," they muttered.</p><p>There was another one a little further down the path. They just really liked <em> that </em> one because it had the best view, and the trees blocked out the buildings nearby so they could pretend they were secretly out in the backyard of a cottage somewhere. Crowley turned, the snow crunching beneath their boots, and started down the path.</p><p>"Crowley?"</p><p>They spun on their heel. Sure enough, sitting on <em> their </em>bench was...their ghost.</p><p>"It is you! Your hair is hard to miss, of course."</p><p>"True," they said as they came up to him. "And I didn't recognize you from behind with that," they gestured to beige hat completely with fuzzy pom-pom on his head.</p><p>"Ah yes," he placed a mittened, <em> mittened </em>, hand to either side of his head, "my ears do get ever so cold."</p><p>"What brings you here? This is a bit far from your place."</p><p>"Well it's rather peaceful I, oh please join me, Crowley," he patted the space beside him and Crowley wasn't going to argue. "I can't quite remember," Aziraphale continued, "when I first came across this spot... Oh, no, I do! There was some sort of festival or something a few summers ago, and I came to try all the different food trucks that were in."</p><p>"I want to say I vaguely recall that. How have we never run into each other before? Do you come here every Christmas?"</p><p>"Not every Christmas no. Sometimes on Christmas Eve or the day after. Or, I don't know whenever I'm feeling...down I suppose."</p><p>"It is a nice spot."</p><p>"Hmm. How about yourself?"</p><p>"Every christmas."</p><p>"Oh how nice, what a wonderful little tradition. I hope I'm not intruding or--"</p><p>"Not in the slightest. I'd love to sit with you.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” he said with a smile and a little wiggle.</p><p>Crowley loved that wiggle. They would do any and everything to see it all the time. A wiggle a day would keep the sad thoughts away. They sat back, legs sprawled out, “So are you here to escape Holiday Family Drama?”</p><p>“Ah, you could say that. I cut ties with them twenty-some-odd years ago.”</p><p>“Yeah? I got the reverse going for me, <em> they </em> cut <em> me </em>out.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>There was a lot in that ‘ah’. Sadness, of course, but also understanding. They were two queer men of a certain age. These weren’t surprising back stories to either of them. Although Crowley’s had a slight twist and they wondered if Aziraphale’s did as well.</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Turned out the being attracted to men part wasn't the problem, it was the clothes and make-up."</p><p>"What an oddly specific line to draw in the sand. I mean it's all ridiculous, of course, but that's really--"</p><p>"No, I know. I agree. I could date and fuck whomever I wanted, but it was all about how we were seen and perceived and how we presented ourselves as a <em> family </em>."</p><p>"Hmm. Yes that...certainly sounds familiar.” There was a hardness to his voice that Crowley had never heard before. It made them wonder what expectations had been placed on him. And what happened when he didn’t meet them. Aziraphale sniffed and shook it off before they could say anything. “I am sorry though."</p><p>Crowley shrugged, "Their loss."</p><p>When Aziraphale didn’t say anything further about his own experiences Crowley let the topic flutter away. They’d get there when they got there, if they ever got there. Crowley’s curiosity wasn’t a reason to push on something so personal, especially during a chance encounter. Instead, they looked down at their purse, considering pulling out the book. It was a bit cold but maybe they could read together for a bit? They wondered if Aziraphale liked reading aloud. Or being read to? Surely one or the other. Would that be too much? Too fast?</p><p>While they frowned down into their purse, a child let out a startling scream somewhere behind them. Crowley spun around. A handful of kids were playing in the snow, flinging handfuls at each other, the one who screamed was still yelling, and laughing, as the others tried to bury them in snow.</p><p>Crowley let out a breath. Why the fuck did children always yell like it was the end of the world? They turned to Aziraphale who sat stock still, perched on the very edge of his seat as though he were about to get up but froze, and was taking quick, shallow breaths.</p><p>“‘Ziraphale? Hey, hey.” They reached out to touch his arm and he flinched, pulling away and shaking his head. “Okay,” Crowley said, putting their hand up. “Okay. What can I do?”</p><p>He only shook his head again, the faintest whimper coming from him. So Crowley waited. They kept hands in their lap, in one place, and in Aziraphale’s line of sight. After a moment he took a very deep, very shaky breath and let it out slow.</p><p>“Are they alright?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley said. “They’re fine. Just a bunch of kids being dramatic little shits, that’s all. It’s fine.”</p><p>He nodded, small and quick and a little frantic. “Good. Th-That’s good.” Another deep breath in and out. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for, they scared the shit out of me too.”</p><p>“It’s a little more than that I’m afraid.”</p><p>“I know,” they said softly. “You still don’t have to apologize.”</p><p>It was another moment before he was able to fully sit back again. When he did he set his hands in his lap, staring down at them. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“No, I mean, thank you for now and, and when we were at the coffee shop that first night and I asked to change seats and, well, for every other time I’ve jumped or flinched or yelped, you never comment on it or make fun or ask why, and I appreciate that. I startle <em> very </em> easily. Which is funny, really, because I’m also hypervigilant and on edge. Always. I’m just...on edge and...afraid. All the time. You’d think being so tense and aware of my surroundings would make me <em> less </em> prone to jumping out of my skin but, well.”</p><p>Crowley tucked that term away in a corner of their mind to look up and research later. “It’s alright,” they said.</p><p>“I uh. I.” He let out a deep breath, “Now seems like a good a time as any, I suppose. Rip off the bandaid and all that. I have PTSD, you see and, and it greatly affects my life, my day to day.”</p><p>He paused then and Crowley wasn’t sure what else to say besides, “Okay.”</p><p>“And, well, I-I suppose you should know that now, rather than later. If you can’t, or-or don’t want to um. Well. As for what happened uh. It’s. Well. Hmm. Sorry, not sure where to start I uh--”</p><p>“Hey, whoa, slow down. I don’t want to cut you off here but I also very much do. You do <em> not </em> have to explain to me what happened.”</p><p>“Haven’t I?”</p><p>“Fuck no!” At his confused, and slightly hurt face, Crowley pressed on. “Y-You <em> can </em> if you want to. I’m not saying I don’t care or don’t want to hear it, not at all. I do care. Very much so. I’m just saying you have no <em> obligation </em> to. I don’t <em> need </em> to know. It’s not a prerequisite for my support. I...you…” They sighed. “Aziraphale, you don’t have to reopen that wound just to prove it exists.”</p><p>Something in him cracked. Crowley could <em> see </em> it. They thought they could <em> feel </em> it even. His eyes were bright as the tears threatened to spill over.</p><p>“Oh…” he said quietly.</p><p>“All I <em> need </em> to know is what to avoid. If there are certain, uh certain words. Actions, scents, sounds, I don’t know, anything that you know might trigger you. Tell me what to avoid and what to do if it <em> does </em> happen. That’s all. That’s all I need to know. That simple.”</p><p>He blinked and the tears escaped. “It’s ah...it’s never been that simple in the past.”</p><p>“It is with me.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned away and covered his mouth with one mittened hand. His shoulders shook as cried.</p><p>“Hey…” Crowley inched over just a bit, “Can I hold your hand?”</p><p>“Please,” was the muffled reply.</p><p>Crowley took his other hand, squeezing it on his knee. Between their own gloves and Aziraphale’s mitten it didn’t feel like much but it seemed to do wonders for Aziraphale. When his sniffles settled a bit, Crowley rummaged around in their purse for a tissue and offered it. They sat back while Aziraphale turned away to fuss with mittens and clean his face.</p><p>“I um,” he said when he was ready, “I don’t anticipate there being any issues while we sit here, screaming children notwithstanding,”</p><p>“Heh, yeah.”</p><p>“So would you mind if we put the topic of-of what to avoid and what to do aside for now? Just until I’m a bit more emotionally and-and mentally prepared to go into that.”</p><p>“‘Course.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Y’know, I’m having a small thing for New Year’s. You should come if you don’t have plans.” They wanted Aziraphale to know they weren’t scared or suddenly disinterested in him, that they still wanted to spend time with him, get to know him, make plans.</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to crash your party.”</p><p>“It’s not a party. It is very specifically <em> not </em> a party, in fact.”</p><p>“Are you not a fan of parties?”</p><p>“I’m not a fan of <em> hosting </em> parties. It’s a small get together with a couple of friends so we can drink wine and eat snacks and play board games.”</p><p>“Oh! Do you like board games?”</p><p>“I <em> love </em> board games. I’m obnoxious about board games.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled and it was all Crowley wanted in the world to see. “Come over. F-For New Year’s. I actually live not too far from here, just a few blocks that way.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Well...I suppose.”</p><p>“I could come pick you up if that’s easier.”</p><p>“Goodness no, you’re the host. Is Anathema going?”</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“Perhaps I can catch a ride with her then.”</p><p>“There’s a strictly unenforced roaring 20’s theme.”</p><p>“Naturally.”</p><p>“Naturally. But I understand it’s last minute and you may not be able to put together a three-piece suit in time,” Crowley said with an exaggerated frown.</p><p>“Very amusing, darling.”</p><p>Oh. Darling. Not dear. That was new. Did that mean something? Was ‘darling’ reserved for someone special? They couldn’t tell if the color to Aziraphale’s cheeks was the cold or the crying or something else.</p><p>“I don’t know about you,” they said, “but I'm starting to get genuinely cold.”</p><p>“Yes, rather.”</p><p>“Hot chocolate? There’s a nice little coffee shop not too far from here.”</p><p>“Oh are you sure? You don’t have to indulge me if you’d rather enjoy your time alone.”</p><p>Crowley got to their feet, “No. I’ve had more than enough time alone.”</p><p>They held out their hand and Aziraphale took it, smiling all the while. When they started walking, Crowley didn’t let go, trying to focus through the chant of ‘too much, too much’ in their mind on the fact that Azirpahale didn’t let go either.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It was decided they would sit in the shop to recover some warmth and when Crowley mentioned they had a book with them Aziraphale lit up. He was very eager to discuss as far as Crowley had made it. When they sat down and started shedding layers, Aziraphale slipped his hat off and his hair was a mess of curls, a bit frizzy in some spots, impossibly soft-looking. Fluffy. The question was out of Crowley’s mouth before they’d fully thought it.</p><p>“How do you feel about pet names?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t mind, really. Clearly I call everyone ‘dear’.” (But not ‘darling’ Crowley noted.) “Sweetheart is nice. Why, did you um, have something in mind?”</p><p>“It’s, it’s stupid. It popped into my head a few days ago and...I don’t know.”</p><p>“Well what is it?”</p><p>“Hnnn…”</p><p>“Crowley, you brought it up!”</p><p>“I know and now I’m kind of regretting that.”</p><p>“Well I won’t force you to--”</p><p>“Bunny.”</p><p>“<em> Bunny?” </em></p><p>“See! I told you!”</p><p>“Well, now, no, I just, I wasn’t expecting--it’s certainly different. Why ‘bunny’?”</p><p>They writhed a bit in their seat, “I don’t knoooww. Your hair’s so fucking soft looking and fluffy and, well to be honest, because of how you startle. But not, I’m not making fun, honest. And if it makes you uncomfortable because it’s sort of connected to, y’know, then--I--I don’t want you to feel as though I’m mocking you or-or...y’know.”</p><p>“No, I understand. I don’t think you’re mocking me.” His face scrunched as he thought. “It’s interesting. It’s sort of endearing. I think a part of me likes it.”</p><p>“And the rest of you?”</p><p>“I’m not sure. Is that odd? That I don’t know how I feel about it?”</p><p>“I don’t think so. I think we should encourage people to say more often when they don’t know the answer to something.”</p><p>“Why don’t we give it a trial run?”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared at them, taking a small sip of his cocoa. He was trying not to smile and it only made him blush more. Did he know how much his face gave away?</p><p>“I’m not going to say it <em> right now </em>, Aziraphale. It wouldn’t feel authentic, you’re going to have to wait.”</p><p>“Oh, fiddlesticks.”</p><p>“<em> Fiddlesticks </em>?”</p><p>“That’s what I said.”</p><p>“Have you ever cursed in your life?”</p><p>He peered over his cup, “When it feels <em> authentic </em>.”</p><p>“Oh you’re a bit of a bastard, aren’t you?”</p><p>He grinned.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Hot chocolate turned into a discussion on Crowley’s current reading material, and when they could go no further with that without spoiling things, they revisited the alignment of Whoville and Grinch and Scrooge and Aziraphale had never seen the Nightmare Before Christmas because it counted as ‘horror probably’, which, alright, Crowley could concede that and besides, it saved them having to explain their first crush being on Jack Fucking Skellington. (And they were not at all entertaining a couple’s costume for next Halloween because Aziraphale in a pinstripe suit? <em> Fuck </em> . Plus it wasn’t like they hadn’t done Sally in the past and couldn’t put together a new one. Which was something they were <em> not </em> thinking about <em> at all </em>.) But Aziraphales’ avoidance of all things horror meant he didn’t know the wonder that was Boris Karloff (or Vincent Price, a crime in and of itself) and so he’d never heard Boris Karloff reading How The Grinch Stole Christmas. And after several weeks of hearing it, he was surprisingly enthusiastic to hear it one more time. So Crowley found it on YouTube and they crowded together in the booth, the phone held up between them with the volume up just enough to hear it but not enough to bother the handful of other people around. Afterwards Aziraphale remarked that he would simply play that next year instead of hiring some awful Santa.</p><p>By that point it was almost lunch and since neither of them had plans for the day, they found a place open. Aziraphale was hesitant at first, not wanting to ruin some poor worker’s day. Crowley argued that their day was already ruined by being scheduled, if they even celebrated Christmas, and they could say, from experience, that the only thing worse than be scheduled to work a major holiday was working and not having a single customer cause then what had been the fucking point? Crowley also promised to tip outrageously well. In the end they found a small Chinese food place that was less a restaurant and more glorified closet with two tables but in Crowley’s experience those were sometimes the best ones.</p><p>When lunch was done Aziraphale admitted that he had probably ought to head home. Crowley wanted to encourage him to stay, they could catch a movie, go for a walk, keep each other company until it was dinner time and then do that. But the “too much, too much” chant started up again and so they refrained. Besides, it had started to snow in earnest.</p><p>Being so close to their apartment anyway, they walked over so Crowley could save Aziraphale a trip on the bus. The car ride was comfortable as they continued to talk. It was <em> so easy </em> to talk to him. Every so often Crowley got a pang of worry, were they talking <em> too much </em> , where they rambling about some thing <em> too much </em> , going on and on about the finer details of some stupid interest they had <em> too much? </em> But every time Aziraphale smiled at them and laughed and fluttered those eyes of his and the fear melted away, at least for a moment.</p><p>“You know,” Aziraphale said as Crowley pulled into a parking spot near the building. “I’ve thought about it, from time to time. Wearing uh, well, quote-unquote women’s clothing.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I’ve never tried it though. I don’t think I’d like dresses but a skirt maybe? I don’t know. I’m afraid I’ll look like a librarian no matter what I do.”</p><p>Crowley turned a bit in their seat, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”</p><p>“I’ve considered makeup too but I don’t know that I could, you know, ‘pull it on’ as they say.”</p><p>“Pull it <em> off </em>.”</p><p>“That too.”</p><p>“Here, look at me, let me see.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned to them, tilting his chin up just a bit. His eyes were so bright, it was unfair, it cut right through Crowley. They just wanted to hold him close and never let go. Even with the ridiculous hat and mittens, <em> especially </em> with the ridiculous hat and mittens.</p><p>Crowley didn’t experience physical attraction, really. They could acknowledge when someone was <em> attractive </em> but that was never what pulled them toward a person. It wasn’t what made a person sexy or alluring to them. They first fell for a person’s personality and way of being, how they spoke, their little quirks, their interests, their likes and dislikes, their mannerisms. That was what pulled Crowley in and the more they got to experience those things the more it colored everything else. A bedazzled red bow tie on any one else? Silly. Fun. On Aziraphale? Topped with <em> his </em> smile, and the way <em> his </em> eyes lit up, and <em> his </em> laugh? Incredibly sexy. Aziraphale wasn’t a very confident person, that was clear to anyone. Only he <em> was </em> though, wasn’t it? When he got lost talking about a book, or a character, or a movie he’d seen. When he was describing a new restaurant, it didn’t start with the menu, it started with the lighting above the entryway, the color of the seats, the sound of some water installation or such in the background. He knew what he liked and he knew what he didn’t like and even if those things didn’t always match up with Crowley’s, the confidence in knowing what they were and being able to state them as fact, made Aziraphale so very alluring. And he was so bloody soft. Not him, physically, although Crowley was sure that was the case too, but everything he said and did. Every text he sent with the words carefully chosen, the way he greeted customers and spoke with them at length, the way he looked out the window of the car in moments of silence, utterly content. Everything about the man inside and out was so <em> beautiful </em>.</p><p>Oh, Crowley was in trouble.</p><p>“Well?” Aziraphale asked. “What’s the verdict?”</p><p>“I most certainly think you could pull it off. But…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“I think mascara on <em> those </em>lashes is incredibly unfair to the rest of us mortals.”</p><p>“Oh hush.” There. That smile. The pursed, quivering lips as he tried to contain it. So attractive. His gaze darted from Crowley to his lap and back again. “You’re an incorrigible flirt, do you know that?”</p><p>“I’ve been told.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>They leaned in, just a bit, hand on the back of Aziraphale’s seat. They made sure not to touch him though, they didn’t know what the rules were on that, especially after earlier. But judging from the way Aziraphale flushed and peered up at them from beneath <em> those blasted lashes </em>, they were doing alright so far.</p><p>“Is it working?” they asked.</p><p>Aziraphale tried to pretend he was cool and collected.</p><p>Crowley wondered if his cheeks hurt from trying to contain that smile.</p><p>“...maybe,” he said after a moment. “Well if you must know I would very much like to kiss you but I’m not sure I know how to go about doing that.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s true. Frances is my witness.”</p><p>“Oh I’m <em> still </em> mortified over that.”</p><p>“D’you think she can see us in here?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be surprised, woman is like a hawk.” He stole a sideways glance at Crowley. “And you don’t care do you? My goodness, you’re <em> terrible </em>.”</p><p>“And yet here you sit.”</p><p>“Hmm. Here I sit.”</p><p>Crowley hoped Aziraphale would lean in. They couldn’t do it, they hadn’t talked about these things yet and oh did they hope that conversation happened soon-ish. Until then they didn’t know what they could do with their hands or how close they could lean and they almost asked “Can I touch you” because that seemed the obvious solution but it was halfway to their mouth when they realized Aziraphale might think they meant something more than a hand to his cheek and, well, that would go awkward fast.</p><p>He turned in his seat and Crowley willed their heart to stay right where it was. Was it always going to be like this? God they hoped so. They hoped they never, ever developed an immunity to the effect Aziraphale leaning in had.</p><p>It was a gentle thing, just a press of the lips and even so Crowley couldn’t stop the sound that escaped their throat before returning the kiss.</p><p>When Aziraphale pulled back his voice was low, “How’s it look?”</p><p>“How’s what look?” Crowley murmured and even they could hear how drunk they sounded.</p><p>“I imagine I have some of your lipstick on now.”</p><p>Their eyes flicked to Aziraphale’s lips and sure enough there was a faint hint of red on them. Crowley sat back, “Looks good. Here,” they rummaged through their purse and pulled out the tube of lipstick, “can I?”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded eagerly.</p><p>“Is it alright if I touch your face?”</p><p>“Yes. Thank you for asking, my dear.”</p><p>A hand under his chin, Crowley gently applied the lipstick. They were so close and it was so innocent and yet somehow the most intimate thing Crowley had done in, what, <em> years </em> ? When they were done they sat back again. Oh. <em> Oh </em>.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“It’s nice. <em> Very </em> nice. Very kissable.”</p><p>“Yes well you can’t. I won’t have you mussing my makeup,” Aziraphale said as he opened the door and climbed out.</p><p>Crowley laughed. They were sad to have the day come to an end but it had to eventually, they couldn’t sit in the car all night and Crowley suspected neither of them were prepared to invite the other over.</p><p>When Aziraphale made it around to the sidewalk, he leaned over to the window and Crowley lowered it.</p><p>“Merry Christmas, darling.”</p><p>“Merry Christmas, bunny.”</p><p>“Oh! There it is!”</p><p>“There it is,” they laughed. “Is that a good ‘oh’?”</p><p>“I think so! But,” he held up what Crowley assumed was meant to be a single finger in a stern way but it didn’t quite work with an entirely mittened hand, “we shan’t get ahead of ourselves.”</p><p>“No, we shan’t.”</p><p>“We still need a few more successful attempts before I can officially say it’s acceptable.”</p><p>“Down right scientific, you are.”</p><p>“Mind how you go driving in this. Message me when you get home?”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p>Crowley watched him go into his building and waited for the door to close behind him before driving away. This had been the best Christmas they had in a very, very long time. They knew the apartment would still be empty when they got home, but that was alright, they had this new, ridiculous thing in their chest to keep them company.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello frens, quick PSA:<br/>living with PTSD suuuucks. Living with complexPTSD (yes it's a thing) SUCKS. ASS. Writing about trauma in realistic ways is always going to be important to me. Getting triggered, having a panic attack as a result of getting triggered, experiencing flashbacks, and a whole host of other symptoms don't always look the way popular media would have you believe. I've had to endure flashbacks while helping a customer. Couldn't just walk away, had to ride it out, and believe me they were none the wiser. We learn to manage our trauma in ways big and small. Those of us with cPTSD learn how to navigate life on our tip toes because sometimes there are things out there that are a trigger and you <em>don't know yet</em>. Because sometimes you get triggered and you don't know WHY. Which means you don't know how to process it, how to handle it. It's really, really hard. All this to say, that I hope those of us living with trauma find a Crowley in our lives. And those of you that don't have to live with trauma, try to be the Crowley in someone's life, yeah?</p><p>Much love &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hewwo!<br/>PLEASE TURN YOUR WORK SKINS CREATOR STYLE THING ON<br/>I tried doing the thing so their text messages actually look like messages! and i worked really hard on it uwu! plus there's like, a ton of text talking in this one. (i like writing it, so sue me)</p><p>Also, I'm just going to stop pretending to have any sort of consistent update schedule with this fic lol The chapters seem to be staying in this 8-9k length which takes a bit longer. plus formatting... hey at least there's no real plot you have to keep track of XD</p><p><strong>content warnings: </strong> some brief mention of past transphobia , a lot of talking about how we're perceived and body image , paranoia induced spiraling / mild panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The conversation happened the next day. Aziraphale would have preferred to put it off longer, forever, even, a small part of him cried. But no, it had to happen eventually. He wanted very much to spend New Year's with Crowley. He could have put it off until after but Aziraphale was of the casually superstitious sort and felt if Crowley decided they couldn't handle all of, well, <em>him,</em> then it was best to know it now, get it over with, and go into a new year fresh. A new decade, actually.</p><p>He also chose the day after Christmas because it meant he would still have a day to himself to process all of his feelings before having to go back to work.</p><p>He had a plan. Plans made him feel…maybe not safe, but saf<em>er.</em></p><p>He texted Crowley early that morning asking if he could call later and they could talk. Doing it over the phone was another strategic move, although not one he preferred. He reasoned no matter how it went, good or bad, he would want some space to himself and he would find it hard to ask for that space if Crowley was sitting there in front of him. He also thought it would be hard to get the words out if he had to look in their bright eyes and expectant face. So no, over the phone was best.</p><p>He texted Crowley at precisely 1pm, not to early, but he still would have the afternoon and evening ahead of him to decompress.</p><p>Crowley said they were good to go.</p><p>So he called.</p><p>And it was a bit awkward at first. Hello, how are you, fine, how was the rest of your Christmas evening, small talk. When Aziraphale asked what Crowley had for breakfast they chuckled and very gently pointed out that he was stalling. Which he was, of course he was. Crowley asked if there was an alternative method of doing this that would be easier? Perhaps sending it to them over text, or an email. Or a letter? Would he prefer a letter? He probably would. (Which Aziraphale couldn't deny.)</p><p>It was alright, Aziraphale insisted. This way was the middle ground, he'd come at it from a few different angles and this was the best option. It allowed him the space he needed but also for them to have a conversation in real time, not drag it out too long and let his nerves really fray.</p><p>Which of course Crowley agreed to. Because they were Crowley and they were so wonderful. Aziraphale reminded himself of that, a little mantra in the back of his head, as he launched into things.</p><p>And it was fine.</p><p>A bit of crying, as he edged near hows and whys, Crowley offering to come over and he insisting he needed the space, he was fine. There was even some laughter, it wasn't all bad. He'd made a small list for himself beforehand. Common occurrences he'd noted over the years that tend to affect him more than others. He hedged around calling it a trigger list. It felt too big. Too official. Too much. It wasn't that serious. (But it was.) They talked about some of his tried and true methods for calming down, for re-centering himself, for clawing out of the panic.</p><p>Crowley had questions, which was to be expected, but they had the kind of questions that told Aziraphale they'd done some reading, a bit of research. He didn't know if they'd done it the night before out of curiosity or that morning in preparation for their conversation, but they'd <em>done it</em> and oh, if that didn't just make him cry all over again.</p><p>By the end of it Crowley had a much better understanding of what to expect, what to do, and what not to do. It wasn't everything. It could never cover everything. Because, much the same as one would in an argument or at an interview, there's always that one thing you think of right as you hang up the phone.</p><p>And because it could never be everything. There were still, unfortunately, things he was discovering. Things that affected him now that hadn't before, things that affected him <em>more</em> now than they had before, tricks to calm down that no longer worked, mantras his mind mangled against him. It was a test that never ended nor could he ever pass, he just had a cheat sheet and grim determination.</p><p>He was glad, in the end, that he'd done it over the phone and that he had the next day to himself. Crowley gave him space, as requested, sending only a simple good night text and one in the morning. Aziraphale only responded to them with a smiley face, to show he was alright, but still not ready to talk any further.</p><p>And that was fine.</p><p>Which surprised him. He still felt a bit scared, worried that Crowley would pack up at any moment. But the dear hadn't yet and their consistent efforts to be supportive while minding boundaries were all Aziraphale could have hoped for and more. It occurred to him, late Thursday night, with a forkful of cake half raised to his mouth, that if he wasn’t careful he was going to fall very much in love with them.</p><p>He realized as he brushed he teeth that he might have already.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~*~</p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">



</p>
  <p><span class="text">how do you feel about surprises?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:15 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Ah. Those are tricky.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:17 PM</span>
<span class="text">how so?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:18 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I LOVE being surprised but it’s incredibly hard to successfully pull one off on me.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:18 PM</span>
<span class="text">hhhhhhh</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">k</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:19 PM</span>
<span class="text">so, just a regular batman then are we?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:20 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Oh nothing like that like, I simply pay attention.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:21 PM</span>
<span class="text">so sherlock then</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:21 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Same difference, really. The trouble is I'm constantly keeping aware of what's going on around me, who is saying what, or doing what, and keeping a little tally going, in preparation for the other foot to fall.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:23 PM</span>
<span class="text">ooooh</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:24 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Often times I stumble onto a surprise without really trying, it's simply a result of my attempts to make everything ELSE make sense, so that I can be prepared. Even if I haven't' figured out what the surprise is, although I often do, I know when one is coming. Which then makes me anxious because what if I don't like it? Or what if I tip the other person off that I know what they're planning and now they know that I know and the whole thing is ruined and I've gone and upset them?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:26 PM</span>
<span class="text">oof</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:28 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Oof, indeed, my dear.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:29 PM</span>
<span class="text">so completely left field or nothing at all?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:30 PM</span>
<span class="breply">You’re welcome to try.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:30 PM</span>
<span class="text">challenge accepted <span class="x1F608"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Horns )</span></span></span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:31 PM</span>
<span class="text">you’re responding p quick this afternnon, on break?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:34 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Not quite. I'm the only one here but it's incredibly slow today.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:36 PM</span>
<span class="text">soooooooo</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:36 PM</span>
<span class="text">safe for me to pop by with some hot chocolate ??</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:37 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Is that what spurred this question on surprises?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:38 PM</span>
<span class="text">sort've</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:38 PM</span>
<span class="text">i just</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">also didnt want to get into the habit and it turns out you hate surprises</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:39 PM</span>
<span class="text">which occurred to me was a possibility, given everything else</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:40 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Ah. No, I do like them. You have to put some effort into surprising someone, haven't you? Think about what they like, how best to spring it on them, all to give them some joy. (Although I'm sure the success is of great appeal to the surpriser as much as the joy of the surprisee, but still.) It's all rather endearing, I think.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 2:42 PM</span>
<span class="text">good to know</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:44 PM</span>
<span class="text"> omw btw</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 2:48 PM</span>
</p>
</div><p>Fortunately several years of texting with Anathema made parsing Crowley’s messages a bit easier. Although there were still some he just didn’t understand and was honestly too afraid to ask at this point.</p><p>It wasn't long before Crowley came sauntering in carrying two cups. Goodness they were a sight. Even all buttoned up in their pea coat, which Aziraphale suspected was a different color from the one he’d seen them in before, gloves and scarf and a beret at a fashionable tilt, just an absolute <em>sight.</em> How did they make outerwear seem so alluring?</p><p>“Here you are, one hot chocolate for you, and one latte for me.”</p><p>“Oh, yes, right,” he took the cup and tried not shake the thing all over Crowley. He hadn’t realized how nervous he was seeing them for the first time since The Conversation (tm). He tried to fill the air, “Did you get any special flavors this time?”</p><p>“I did, two pumps of toffeenut and two pumps of praline. It’s my winter drink.”</p><p>“It sounds very fancy. I wonder how praline would taste in the hot chocolate?”</p><p>“I could ask next time if you like.”</p><p>“Oh I don’t know, what if I don’t like it?”</p><p>“Then I’ll get you something else.”</p><p>“You’ll spoil me that way.”</p><p>“Don’t want it any other way.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled into his too-hot cup. His nerves dissipating with the steam. It was easy. It was always easy talking with Crowley, how could he think it would be any different?</p><p>“It’s really dead in here innit?”</p><p>“Afraid so. It’s always like this after Christmas. I don’t mind working it. And Agnes, the owner, said if it stays like this much longer I can close up early.”</p><p>“Yeah I bet, no sense in paying you to stand around and read.”</p><p>“I do other things! I…well, I dust!”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Oh hush.”</p><p>Crowley grinned.</p><p>“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”</p><p>“Haven’t got any. I keep my schedule absolutely clear for all of December to New Year’s if I can help it.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah, I went in today to do some lighting tests, nothing too intense. I want to enjoy the fresh snow before I get tired of freezing and waiting for the car to warm up. I like to enjoy the season while it still feels bubbly and uplifting.”</p><p>“How wonderful.”</p><p>They sipped their drink. He looked at his feet.</p><p>“Guess I’ll…let you get back to your dusting then?”</p><p>“Oh…uh. I-I suppose.”</p><p>“Do you want me to stay?”</p><p>“Well. I. That is…” he put his cup down to better wring his hands.</p><p>“Tell me what you want, bunny,” they said softly.</p><p>“I’d very much like it if you kept me company but I don’t want to….talk? I-I’d like it if you were near me but we don’t have to, necessarily…engage one another. Oh, that sounds awful doesn’t it?”</p><p>“Not at all. Love me some comfortable silence.”</p><p>“Are you sure? It sounds terribly, I don’t know. Needy and pushy and greedy now that I’ve said it aloud and—”</p><p>“It is none of those things. Besides, you’re technically <em>working.</em> If it weren’t for post-holiday ennui I wouldn’t even get this much right now. I can grab a book and find a corner.”</p><p>“Oh, there’s a very comfortable chair just at the end of that aisle there.” And if it was in direct line of sight from the counter, well neither of them pointed that out.</p><p>“Perfect.” They tapped the empty spot where Aziraphale’s recommendations usually went. “Hmm?”</p><p>“I’m working on it! In fact it’s a fantasy and I think you’ll like it. I should have it finished by New Year’s, I can bring my copy if you like?”</p><p>“Sounds good, bunny,” they said as they made their way, <em>swinging those hips,</em> to the chair and settled in, swiping through their phone.</p><p>Bunny. It really was growing on him. Especially they way Crowley said it. It could have been ‘Azi’ or ‘Az’ or ‘Zira’ or the half a dozen other ways people have found to shorten his name. It could just as easily been ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ or something along those lines. They managed to imbue it with equal parts casual and endearing, and it was all theirs. It wasn’t a pet name he heard often, and certainly no one else would ever get to use it. Hmm. Bunny.</p><p>If anyone tried to tell the Aziraphale of six months ago he would have a (…boyfriend? He really needed to ask Crowley about that) who called him ‘bunny’ of all things. Well. He probably would have said ‘wait go back to the boyfriend part’.</p><p> </p><p>At a quarter to four, with not even as many customers coming through, Aziraphale began the process of closing up. As he finished with the till he called out to Crowley, “What are you reading over there?”</p><p>“Not reading. Playing a game.”</p><p>“Oh? What kind?”</p><p>“Puzzle.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>He closed the drawer, flipped the sign to ‘closed’, and made his way over to Crowley’s side. “One of those ones with the bright colors and exploding—oh.” They were literally building a jigsaw puzzle.</p><p>“I like ‘em. Not the same as the real thing ‘course but…” they shrugged.</p><p>“I see.” Aziraphale tucked that knowledge away alongside his mental tally of what puzzles they still had left in stock. “Any particular kind you prefer? Landscapes or, heaven forbid, pictures of clowns or something?”</p><p>“Fuck, could you imagine?”</p><p>“I’d rather not, and do watch your language.”</p><p>“You’re empty.”</p><p>“You’re as bad as Bee!”</p><p>They shrugged. “To answer your question though, no, no preferences. I once had a one thousand piece that was just a field of pink flowers. Took a bloody year to build it, when I didn’t want to gouge my eyes out.”</p><p>“Good heavens.”</p><p>“Yeah. Felt damn satisfying when I finished it though. Even framed it.” They looked up at him, “Heard you counting the till, gonna close up?”</p><p>“I am, yes. Did you uh, well…”</p><p>“Early dinner? Late lunch? Both?”</p><p>“I think that’s called supper.”</p><p>“Is it? I thought supper came after dinner?”</p><p>“Does it?”</p><p>Crowley made an ‘iunno’ sound.</p><p>“Well, either way, I would like to put something in my mouth, yes.”</p><p>Their eyebrows shot up.</p><p>“Food! I would, oh dear, you just—<em>oh.</em> I’m going to get my coat.” He shuffled off into the office without giving Crowley a chance to respond, his cheeks burning.</p><p>It was such a little thrill whenever they flirted with him like that. <em>Him.</em> Looking…the way he did. People didn’t flirt with him. But whenever Crowley made a suggestive quirk of that eyebrow or whenever he caught their gaze shifting to his lips, he could feel a little hum of excitement run through him.</p><p>Coat and scarf on, mittens in his pocket, he was doing the last button when his phone went off, bzz’ing its way across the desktop. He would have ignored it had it not been Crowley’s name that popped up with the message. And another. And another.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">hey i'm sorry if i joke around with innuendos too much</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i dont wan tto make you feel uncomfortable</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 3:57 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">we've not actually talked about sexual physical intimacy, just the other stuff</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 3:59 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">you may not be into it</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:00 PM</span>
<span class="text">i mean, going SOLELY off the kiss as witnessed by our Lord and Savior Frances i'm left to think there might maybe be SOME interest</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:01 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">but yeah</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">still</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:02 PM</span><br/>
<span class="text">tell me and i'll stop</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:03 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>Aziraphale almost rushed out to tell Crowley they had it all wrong but Crowley had texted him. They could have come to the office themself. He had to assume that was for a reason.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="breply">Oh my dear you're quite alright! I don't mind at all! I'm sorry if I've given you that impression. I know I get a bit flustered but it's quite the opposite.<br/>
</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:05 PM</span>
<span class="text">opposite?<br/>
</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:06 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Many take one look at me and assume I'm a bit of a prude when that's really not the case.<br/>
</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:07 PM</span>
<span class="text">ohohohoooo<br/>
</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:08 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Indeed. As far as sexual physical intimacy goes... well. I'm very much a fan of that as well.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:09 PM</span></p>
</div><p>He hesitated.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="breply">You?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:11 PM</span>
<span class="text">i like it</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:13 PM</span>
<span class="text">but i dont ever feel sexual attraction to people really</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">so jus tknow that now?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:14 PM</span>
<span class="text">or i do, but not often?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">or in the way you migh tthink</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:15 PM</span>
<span class="text">its hard to explain</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:16 PM</span>
<span class="text">if you ask me if something makes you look sexy</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">im not really going to have an answer for that</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:18 PM</span>
<span class="text">by my definition of sexy i think you are just by existing so...yeah</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:19 PM</span>
<span class="text">anything you put on is therefore sexy</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">or take off</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:20 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I see. Bedazzled bow-tie included?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:22 PM</span>
</p>
</div><p>He heard Crowley laugh. It sounded like they’d moved closer to the counter.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"> </p>
  <p><span class="text">god i think about that fucking bow-tie at least once a week</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:23 PM</span>
<span class="text">its the most ridiculous thing ive ever seen</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i love it so much</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:24 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I will keep that in mind <span class="x1F609"><span class="hide">(Winking Face )</span></span>.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:25 PM</span>
<span class="text">OHOHOHOOOO</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">so to be clear</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:26 PM</span>
<span class="text">sexual physical stuff EVENTUALLY, not saying righ tnow or anything, is ok?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:27 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Very much so. As is flirting and innuendo of that nature.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:28 PM</span>
<span class="text"><span class="x1F600"><span class="hide">(Grinning Face )</span></span>!!</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:28 PM</span>
</p>
</div><p>Aziraphale smiled down at the little face. And then his smile wavered. He hadn’t moved from his spot to join Crowley and Crowley hadn’t come over to join him. He wasn’t sure which of them was waiting on the other to move first but he took the opportunity it presented.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
    </p>
  <p><span class="breply">Do you really think I'm sexy?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:31 PM</span>
<span class="text">i do</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:31 PM</span>
<span class="text">very much</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:32 PM</span>
<span class="breply">And it has nothing to do with the way I look?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:34 PM</span>
<span class="text">ehhhh</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i know that sounds bad</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:35 PM</span>
<span class="text">and i know, despite how bullshit it is, we all kind of, to some degree, want to know we're attractive and that others find us attractive</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:36 PM</span>
<span class="text">and i DO</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:37 PM</span>
<span class="text">but it has very little to do with the way you look</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">by the same hand I don't find ANYONE attractive solely by the way they look</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:38 PM</span>
<span class="text">idk if thats any sort of real consolation but i'm not gonna be that guy looking at woman in red meme y'know?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:39 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I’m afraid I don't.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:41 PM</span>
<span class="text">fjdalj;f</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">what i mean is, i'll never be comparing you to anyone else, there is no IDEAL in my mind</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:42 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I see.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:43 PM</span>
<span class="text">does that bother you?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:45 PM</span>
<span class="breply">To be honest? Perhaps a little. I think a part of me has always hoped to be deemed attractive regardless of my...me.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:46 PM</span></p>
</div><p>He heard them let out a quiet groan of frustration.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p><span class="text">you're not hearing me, bunny</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:48 PM</span>
<span class="text">you ARE attractive</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i do FIND YOU ATTRACTIVE</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:49 PM</span>
<span class="text">it's just got fuck all to do with how you look</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:50 PM</span>
<span class="text">there's more to it, for me at least, than that</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:51 PM</span>
<span class="text">BUT</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">if it all helps</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i love your fluffy fucking hair</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:52 PM</span>
<span class="text">can't get enough of it</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:53 PM</span>
<span class="text">and if i'm being really honest i loved the feel of you in my arms in that hallway</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:54 PM</span>
<span class="text">and i love your lips, fucking everything you do with them</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">the way your purse them and you pout and you smile</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">fuck me your smile</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:56 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I don't pout.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 4:58 PM</span></p>
</div><p>They scoffed.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p><span class="text">you do and yo ufucking know you do</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">don't give me that</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 4:59 PM</span>
</p>
</div><p>There was a moment while Aziraphale tried to figure out what to say next. He didn’t quite know how to explain what he was feeling, how to put it in perspective for Crowley, for himself.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p><span class="text">look i'm sorry i'll never be the kind of person who waxes on poetic about your ass or your thighs or your tummy or anything liek that</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:02 PM</span>
<span class="text">i just don't notice it</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">in a positive or negative light</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:03 PM</span>
<span class="text">once i get to know someone, once we have more moments together under our belt (ha) then yeah i might have points i focus more on and thats because i now have somethign to associate them with</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:05 PM</span>
<span class="text">like your lips and you giving me the opportunity to put lipstick on you</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:06 PM</span>
<span class="text">fuck that was so incredibly intimate to me</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i haven't stopped thinking about it</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:07 PM</span>
<span class="text">and the same goes for when we eventually do things together</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">i suddenly might have a lot of opinions on that ass of yours, idk</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:08 PM</span>
<span class="text">or your shoulders or something</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">who knows what i'll discover</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">but thats part of it for me</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:09 PM</span>
<span class="text">hell thats the whole damn thing</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">the discovery</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:10 PM</span>
<span class="text">i am far FAR more itnerested in discovering the beautiful parts of a person than making a decision based on..what? what i can see with my eyes? what ive been told and taught and led to believe is the ideal? what kind of rubrics are those? i'd much rather discover that i'm bloody gone on your lips or that you have wonderful forearms or that i can't get enough of the way you sound when you lose yourself</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:13 PM</span>
</p>
</div><p>Aziraphale sucked in a short gasp, “Oh…”</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p><span class="text">yeah</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">just like that</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">so</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">yeah</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:15 PM</span>
<span class="text">i don't feel the kind of physical attraction i was told i was supposed to</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">but i do like being intimate</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:17 PM</span>
<span class="text">and i'm excited to see what i'll discover with you when it happens</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:18 PM</span>
<span class="text">and since im apparently just spilling all of this out</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:19 PM</span>
<span class="text">seeing what i can do to you is sexy to m e</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:20 PM</span>
<span class="text">seeing how you react to my touch or my words is sexy to me</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:21 PM</span>
<span class="text">there are so many bloody deifnitions of what can be sexy</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:22 PM</span>
<span class="text">but none of my scales factor the shape of a body</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">it just</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">doesn't matter to me</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:23 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I see. Thank you for explaining.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 5:25 PM</span>
</p>
</div>For a moment it was painfully quiet. Aziraphale knew how tense his message must read. He heard Crowley come closer to the office. Saw the shadow of them as they stopped just beyond the door, leaning back against the frame.<div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p>
<span class="text">you're upset?</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:28 PM</span></p>
</div>He took a deep breath. He thought of that lunch date with Tracy, about being himself and open and honest. It had worked so far…<div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p>
<span class="breply">A little.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 5:32 PM</span>
<span class="breply">But not with you! Not really. And please don't apologize for the way you are. I don't want you any other way.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 5:33 PM</span>
<span class="text">the same goes for you yknow</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 5:34 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Ah. You're right.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 5:34 PM</span></p>
</div>He started typing. Stopped. Deleted it all. After another false start he took his phone off vibrate, so that Crowley could, hopefully, hear the little touch tone sounds of him typing and know he was working on a response.<div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p>

<span class="breply">I was so desperate to get approval and assurance that I'm enough that I made you feel like you weren't. I'm sorry. I won't lie to you, there is a part of me that feels a bit disappointed but I think that's something I'm allowed to feel. Part of my recovery has meant acknowledging that I'm allowed to feel what I do, whatever that may be. The very existence of feeling it speaks to its validity. It's what I do with those feelings that matters. And I won't let it interfere with us. I won't place expectations on you that you've already explained you won't reach. Instead, I will endeavor to see and experience things as you do. You're doing so very much to be understanding of how I live my life and why, I can and should reciprocate that. And I think this is the first way I can.</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="tssent"> 5:40 PM</span></p>
</div>“Thank you, Aziraphale.”<p>“Of course,” he said as he pocketed his phone and joined Crowley by the door. “And thank you. I um. Well I did have one other question?”</p><p>“Go for it.”</p><p>“I don’t know how to refer to you.”</p><p>“What, like ‘bunny’?”</p><p>“No, no. Unless you have a pet name request?”</p><p>“Nah. Just…is ‘darling’ like ‘dear’ for you? You know how you call everyone dear is…’darling’…?”</p><p>“It’s reserved for loved ones.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t miss the hint of disappointment there. “There’s others! Ones I haven’t quite broken out yet that are for my…well, see, this is what I mean. I don’t… You use they/them so I wasn’t sure if boyfriend or girlfriend or, I’ve heard joyfriend.”</p><p>Their face scrunched, “Don’t like that.”</p><p>“Alright, then what?”</p><p>“Boyfriend’s…fine.”</p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p>“Eh…”</p><p>“Crowley, be honest with me!”</p><p>“I like a mix of it, y’know? Sometimes refer to me as your boyfriend and sometimes your girlfriend and sometimes as your partner and sometimes as your undeniably amazing significant other who gives you kisses that makes your toes—”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” he laughed, “alright. A mix then.”</p><p>“Yeah. I don’t mind boyfriend but I don’t like it if its <em>only</em> that. Makes me feel like… I’d say I’m genderfluid, yeah? But if you only refer to me with male-leaning terms it makes me feel like the male parts of me are what you see the most. I mean I don’t really care. I’ll go to work with a beard and lipstick but it…”</p><p>“It takes effort to maintain that not-caring.”</p><p>“It <em>does.</em> Yes!”</p><p>He thought about any function he’d ever gone to as the clear fuddy-duddy in the room. Grandpa librarian while everyone else was charming and chic and confident, even in their casuals. That was him at the bonfire even. “I understand.”</p><p>“But on the other hand I don’t want just feminine terms cause then…eh. I don’t know. S’hard to explain. I’ve had partners in the past that, if I slept over for example, they didn’t want to see or feel my stubble. Had to be as…passing as possible.”</p><p><em>“What?”</em> Aziraphale surprised even himself with the anger in his voice.</p><p>Crowley just shrugged, “I was…younger. And stupid. And I thought I was in love. But I don’t ever want to feel like that again. I like being in the middle. That’s where I feel comfortable. I like knowing that people see in me both, y’know? Shit, now I’m talking about how important it is that people see a certain physicality of me and I feel like an ass given what we were just—”</p><p>“No, no. I understand. And it’s a bit different.”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>“Well for you it’s more about your gender and your presentation and how people conflate the two, or don’t. And for me it’s more, I don’t know, trying to reach some esoteric bar for what’s deemed conventionally attractive so that I’m passably acceptable by society and yes now that I say that aloud I can hear—”</p><p>“Bit of crossover there.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>But they were smiling at him. Crowley reached over and cupped his cheek. “You are so very beautiful to me. I don’t have words for it. Everything about you, the strength of your person and your character, the careful regard with which you approach everyone and everything…I…so fucking beautiful.”</p><p>Aziraphale ducked his head at the praise, trying to hide from Crowley’s gaze.</p><p>“Hey, no. Hey.” Crowley pulled in closer, gently pressing his cheek to Aziraphale’s, nuzzling against him. “Don’t hide from me.”</p><p>That was the ‘other stuff’ they had discussed. Aziraphale liked physical touch. Craved it, really. Despite all that he’d been through, he wanted to be held and kissed and nuzzled. He wanted surprise hugs and casual arm caresses. It was hard to accept sometimes, but he trusted touch more than words. He’d been lied to before. But he could always tell if someone’s touch was true. That didn’t mean, though, that no matter how much he wanted it, he wasn’t sometimes terrified. He had asked Crowley to be as free with their touch as they liked, but not to feel hurt if Aziraphale flinched or pulled away at times.</p><p>He didn’t pull away this time. “Sorry…”</p><p>“Nothing to be sorry for, bunny. Can I kiss you?”</p><p>Aziraphale turned his head to catch Crowley’s mouth with his own.</p><p>They’d barely returned it, a quiet murmur escaping them before pulling back. “Shit are there cameras here?”</p><p><em>“Now</em> you worry about being seen?”</p><p>“Last thing we want is to get in trouble with Agnes, I bet.”</p><p>“Right you are, but no, there aren’t any cameras.”</p><p>“Ooohh,” they grinned, leaning in once more.<br/>
</p><p>“Ah-ah. I <em>am</em> hungry still, so,” he squeezed past them, heading to the front, “shall we, dearheart?”<br/>
</p><p>“That’s new!”<br/>
</p><p>“It is.”<br/>
</p><p>“Is that reserved for your boyfriends-slash-girlfriends-slash-partners?”<br/>
</p><p>“Well, technically, historically,” he said as he locked the front door, “I’ve only ever had boyfriends. But yes.” Aziraphale turned and pressed a quick kiss to their lips, “It’s reserved for my girlfriend.”<br/>
</p><p>Crowley smiled at that. They <em>smiled.</em> It wasn’t their carefully crafted smirk or their playful grin, it was a smile. And the way it made the corners of their eyes crinkle and their shoulders lax, the very hint of their front teeth biting their lower lip as though too much happiness might spill out too quickly, it was a <em>sight.</em> Suddenly Aziraphale thought he understood a bit more of what Crowley had been saying.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Aziraphale, thankfully, had New Year's Eve off. He used the extra few hours it granted him to stress his clothes and then stress them some more. He also drank a cup of coffee in the early evening in the hopes it would help him stay coherent past midnight. He was usually in bed by then. Not asleep, no, likely he was staring at the ceiling but he was comfortable and in his jammies and ready to go to sleep once his mind decided it wanted to. That was very different from being at a not-party with several people. A party hosted by his boyfriend.<p>He grinned goofily.</p><p>
  <em>Boyfriend.</em>
</p><p>Just past 8 he got a message from Anathema</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Coming for you</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 8:08 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>What? She was early, he wasn't dressed, he wasn't prepared, he--</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="text">Around 9</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="text">Sorry, hit enter too soon</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 8:09 PM</span></p>
</div><p>He let out a heavy breath. Hopefully that would be the last mini panic of the year.</p><p>Crowley was right to tease him about having a suit on hand; he <em>did</em> have one. He’d gotten it for a Halloween thing Bee did at the shop one year. The hat was no longer viable, he’d never stored it properly, but he still had the walking stick that went with the ensemble.</p><p>Standing in front of his mirror he actually thought he looked fairly put together. It would be one of the very, very few occasions where he wasn't out of place. He couldn't wait to see what Crowley wore. He was already picturing one of those classic flapper dress ensembles, long pearl necklace, fringes and fancy headband.</p><p>Unless it was all a lie.</p><p>His smile faltered.</p><p>What if he got there and Crowley wasn't dressed up? No one was. What if it was all one big joke? What if all their happenstance meetings had been carefully orchestrated to lead him along and tonight was the big 'gotcha' reveal? He'd seen a movie like that once. Where two people pretended to be in love with the other for various, work-related motives. He supposed it ended happily, they often did, but for the life of him he couldn't remember how. What if Crowley had been faking everything this whole time? Their soft words and gentle touches? Oh god what if their conversation, <em>the</em> conversation, hadn't been between them at all? What if it'd been on speaker and there were a room full of people laughing at him? What if it had all been a bet? A wager? How quickly could they convince the sad and lonely book seller to fall head over heels?</p><p>Aziraphale stepped away from the mirror, taking heaving breaths.</p><p>That wasn't right. No one in his life would treat him that way. Anathema had been surprised to find they knew each other. Tracy was so very supportive. Dagon and Bee and Eric and Newt, they all had their own way of encouraging him. And Crowley, they had been nothing but kind so far.</p><p>He considered reaching for his phone, sending Crowley a text, just to check in, say he was excited to come, couldn't wait to see them. But the fear that Crowley wouldn't respond, (which of course they might not, they were preparing for guests) because it was all a sham and it would be over tonight and they had no reason to pretend any further and and and.</p><p>Aziraphale grabbed his phone. He skipped past his messages and instead opened a meditation app. It had a breathing timer on it and he started it up.</p><p>A hollow ding.</p><p>He inhaled deep as he could. It wasn’t much and it was shaky but he did it.</p><p>Ding.</p><p>He held it.</p><p>And held it.</p><p>And held it.</p><p>Ding.</p><p>He exhaled, really trying to push every bit of air and tension out of his body, letting his shoulders go completely slack.</p><p>The timer was set to a minute and it went through four cycles of breathing in, holding, exhaling. By the final, slightly louder chime, he felt a bit less frayed. The thoughts hadn't gone away, but they were simmering in some far corner instead of pooling behind his eyes.</p><p>He simply had to trust Crowley. Trust in this thing that had been gently edged closer and closer to his peripheral until he couldn't ignore it anymore. Aziraphale struggled trusting others, of course, but he tried to believe the best in everyone. He was suspicious and cautious and wary but he wanted so desperately to believe it would be all right that he often spilled everything out, tried so hard, bent over backwards and sideways until he wasn't really recognizable anymore. Because if he showed how good things <em>could</em> be then no one would have any reason to lie or cheat or hurt him. If he showed how good <em>he</em> could be, then it would be all right.</p><p>Trusting himself though, that was another matter. Believing himself to be enough, to not ruin it, to not grow stale and uninteresting. He could never quite bring himself to find that confidence.</p><p>His phone vibrated gently in his hand and Aziraphale looked down at it.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="text">omw!</span><br/>
<br/>
<span class="ts"> 8:52 PM</span></p>
</div><p>"Oh...fuck."</p><p>Anathema stood outside the car waiting for him, as she always did. She, too, had worn a suit. Although she'd foregone the jacket. Her sleeve garters were a nice touch. He thought briefly that they all ought to take a photo with Crowley's car. He wasn't sure what year model it was but didn’t really think it mattered, it would look... "cool".</p><p>"Look at youuuuu," Anathema said with a grin.</p><p>"Quite dapper yourself, my dear."</p><p>"Hey, check it out." She lifted up her hair into a ponytail to reveal a shaved underside.</p><p>"Oh!"</p><p>"Yeah? It was either this or on the side, but I couldn't decide which side and Newt suggested this would be a better way to ease into since I can just," she released her hair, "hide it if I decide I don't like it."</p><p>"Very smart. I for one think it looks good."</p><p>"Crowley helped pick a style."</p><p>"They are rather good with fashion."</p><p>"Yes," she leaned in, "your <em>boyfriend</em> is good with fashion. Aziraphale Fell with a boyfriend, ooooo."</p><p>"Oh hush," he climbed into the backseat. "Hello, Newt."</p><p>"Hey, Mr. Fell."</p><p>Anathema caught his gaze in the rear view mirror, "Ah-ah, I want to know <em>everything.</em> Tracy said you two haven't been able to meet for lunch for a bit, so she has no updates for me."</p><p>"What is there to update?"</p><p>"I don't know! How things are going? Are they treating you good? I know they are, obviously, they're Crowley. And I'd ask them the same thing of you but I know you are because you're <em>you</em>, so it's just a standard form question. But I want to knooow."</p><p>"Not sure what there is to tell, really. They've been very good to me so far. And I'm trying to reciprocate that."</p><p>Newt turned a bit in his seat, "She just wants to know if you've kissed yet."</p><p>"Newt!"</p><p>"You do."</p><p>"I do."</p><p>"We have."</p><p>Anathema let out a delighted squeal, "You haaaave?"</p><p>"Yes, but a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."</p><p>"Pft, I'll ask Crowley then."</p><p>"She will," Newt warned.</p><p>Aziraphale sat back in his seat, setting the walking stick over his lap, and the book for Crowley over that. He ran his fingers over the spine of the book, grateful to have something to fiddle with as he felt his face heat up. It was sort of nice, honestly, being on the receiving end of the playful teasing about a new relationship for once.</p><p>Parking was a couple of blocks away, and they kept a brisk pace to the building. Mostly because it was freezing out and Newt had gone the flapper dress route. Crowley's building was much, much fancier than Aziraphale had been prepared for. Sleek and smooth, with actual hedges and a working intercom. Even the mail area was pristine. Goodness.</p><p>The fears he managed to quell earlier began to swell once more as they waited for the elevator.</p><p>"You alright?" Anathema asked.</p><p>"Hmm? Yes. Mhm. Tip-top."</p><p>"Az..."</p><p>"Just nervous."</p><p>“There’s not going to be many people, promise. Crowley doesn’t like hosting big to-dos.”</p><p>The elevator arrived and they shuffled in.</p><p>“It’s not that. Not really.”</p><p>Anathema met his gaze in the reflective surface of the closed doors, “They really like you, Az. Not only that but I promise you they’re probably just as nervous about messing it all up as you are.”</p><p>The elevator dinged and the door opened before he could form a response.</p><p>Anathema led the way, clearly having been there before. A door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar, the sound of swing jazz wafting out. Aziraphale took a steadying breath. Anathema squeezed his hand and Newt patted his shoulder, then they stepped in.</p><p>Crowley's apartment was <em>huge</em>. They were immediately in some sort of open-plan kitchen living room area. There was a fireplace, floor to-near-ceiling windows, two of which opened up on to a balcony. A few people were sitting on the large, L-shaped couch. A hall down to his left and to his right, in the kitchen, was Crowley pouring some wine.</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>It should have been impossible to hear over the music but Crowley looked up and right at Aziraphale. They abandoned the wine glasses to glide over to him.</p><p>Crowley had <em>not</em> gone the flapper route. Instead they wore a long ball gown. It almost looked black but as they got closer Aziraphale realized it was a deep emerald green. A lace neckline, barely there sleeves, a sequined bodice that spilled out into loose drapes of fabric. They even wore gloves that went all the way up to their elbows. Their hair masterfully arranged into a tumble of curls, spilling over one shoulder.</p><p>"Oh my," Aziraphale breathed. "It's you."</p><p>"Its me," Crowley said. "And you."</p><p>"And me."</p><p>"Looking good, bunny."</p><p>"Wait, <em>bunny?"</em></p><p>They were reminded that Anathema and Newt were still standing beside them.</p><p>"'Nathema! Look at you!"</p><p>"I know," she said with a self-assured half shrug. She lifted up her hair as she had for Aziraphale.</p><p>"Very nice. And Newt! Did you go to the store I recommended for the shoes?"</p><p>"I did but I don't know how I feel about them."</p><p>"Yeah it takes some getting used to. I might have an unopened pack of insoles if you ne--"</p><p>
    <em>"ANNIE?!”</em>
  </p><p>The screech had come from someone halfway down the hall, peeking out of one of the rooms.</p><p>"Lucien?"</p><p>"Oh. My. Fucking. <em>God.</em> Anathema fucking Device!"</p><p>The stranger ran over, practically tackling Anathema. While the two hugged Crowley leaned over to Aziraphale and Newt. "So you know I met Anathema when I went back to school, yeah? We had the same dance classes. Lucien here, was also in those classes. Thick as thieves the three of us."</p><p>"Lucy," Crowley said, when the two finished hugging and squealing, "this is Azira--"</p><p>"Phaaaaaale," Lucien said. He grinned and looked Aziraphale up and down. "Oh yes. Yes. I have heard so much and I am just loving," he waved his hand in the air, "all of this. Perfect."</p><p>“Uh. Th-thank you?”</p><p>“Eat you right up.”</p><p>“Oh dear.”</p><p>"I didn't know you were going to be here," said Anathema.</p><p>"Wasn't planning to but my <em>fucking</em> plane got delayed and then it got canceled so of course I hit up Crowley to crash on their couch--"</p><p>"I have a couch," Anathema pouted.</p><p>"Is your couch certified Crowley-comfortable?"</p><p>"Hnn."</p><p>"Yeah, babe. Didn't think so. And so they said it was fine so long as I didn't mind this little shindig, which obviously I’m not going to say no to free wine."</p><p>"Speaking of?" said Newt, hopefully.</p><p>"Oh right. Uh, Lucy can you do the rest of the introductions, I'll grab the glasses."</p><p>Lucien hooked arms with Newt, who did not seem to be quite as enthusiastic as his new friend was, and led the way toward the couch.</p><p>Anathema leaned into Aziraphale, "So. <em>Bunny?”</em></p><p>"Yes? <em>Annie?"</em></p><p>"Ugh."</p><p> </p><p>There was someone named Michael, an art dealer that worked closely with Crowley. She wasn't planning to stay until midnight, but had popped in to say hello for a bit. Eve, who was also one of the college friends, and Lilith, who was a friend of Crowley's from before they had met anyone else. Aziraphale liked Lilith, if for nothing else that she was closer to his and Crowley's age and much less...excitable than Lucien. Eve seemed an alright sort but was on her phone with what sounded like a partner and the conversation seemed heated.</p><p>"Hey," Crowley whispered, "fancy a tour?"</p><p>"That sounds wonderful. And oh, before I forget, I finished the next recommendation.”</p><p>“Yeeesss,” Crowley said as they took the book. "Alright well, living room, obviously." They gestured to the left, "Kitchen," a gesture to the right, "fireplace. Behind me's the balcony but we can check that out at the end. Come on."</p><p>Aziraphale followed Crowley around the group and toward the hall. There was art everywhere. Paintings and prints and photographs. The hall was lined with it, there was more in the living room. Aziraphale didn’t really have a chance to stop and look as Crowley went down the hall but he hoped to find time later to really peruse.</p><p>On the left was a closet, a washroom, and then Crowley's bedroom. He only peeked in, just past the doorway. The bed was a bit messy, which for some strange reason made Aziraphale feel at ease. A few pairs of shoes were sprawled out on the floor, as though Crowley hadn't been able to decide on a pair. And he could make out the doorway to an ensuite further in.</p><p>They stepped in and set the book on a nightstand, "You can come in, if you like."</p><p>"What would your guests think?"</p><p>"Don't really care."</p><p>"Hmmmm. Oh and here? A guestroom?"</p><p>There was a door across the way from Crowley's bedroom.</p><p>"Technically. But there's permanent residents inside."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>Crowley pushed the door open to reveal a <em>garden.</em> There were plants simply everywhere. A sort of baker’s rack refitted to hold all sorts of herbs, large potted plants in the corners, an array of step-like furniture that held pots on every landing. Leaves hung down from above, vines crept along a lattice that was built to rest against the window. And nestled in against one wall was a small swing bench. Hung above it was the famous framed pink-flower puzzle. </p><p>Crowley sat on the bench and motioned for Aziraphale to join them.</p><p>“This is beautiful. You manage this all on your own?”</p><p>“Yup.”</p><p>“Goodness. <em>How?”</em></p><p>“Lot of water.”</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled.</p><p>“Read a lot of books. I wanted some life near me but I don’t think I’d be good for pets, really. If the first few plants, rest their leafy souls, are any indication.”</p><p>“Oh dear.”</p><p>“Yeah. Took a lot of learning and trial and error. This,” they gestured around the room, “is several years in the making. Didn’t happen overnight. Sometimes I like to play some rainscapes or something, have a nap."</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>They sat in the quiet. The bench rocking just slightly back and forth.</p><p>It was peaceful.</p><p>And in the peace the doubt started to bubble. So tonight hadn't been what he feared but that didn't mean the next time wouldn't. Or that Crowley would tire of him. Or a million other things could go wrong.</p><p>He stretched his fingers out as far as he could and then clenched his hand into a fist, trying to focus on the movement.</p><p>Crowley, without saying anything, reached over and took hold of his hand.</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to tell them what he was afraid of. Wanted to explain the unreasonable, because he knew it was unreasonable, but ever so persistent itch at the back of his mind that something would go wrong, it was just a matter of time. He didn't know how to explain it. He didn't know how he would explain it the next time it happened. Or the next.</p><p>"You know,” he started, “I...I would understand if you don't want to pursue this."</p><p>"Wait what? Where did that come from?"</p><p>"Well, if after our conversation and seeing what you've signed up for and, I understand I'm a bit, hmm, high maintenance, I suppose."</p><p>Crowley did look at him then, face twisted in annoyance, "There's no such thing as a high maintenance human being. Cars are high maintenance. I should know, I own one. Humans are not. There's your needs, and whether or not someone else can meet them. That's it. You're not at fault for having needs just as, y'know, someone else isn't at fault for not being able to meet them."</p><p>"I'm afraid you won't be able to. I'm afraid before long I'll be too much. It won't be worth the effort you have to put in and I-oh-I don't want to ruin something that's so...that I'm very happy with."</p><p>"You won't. D'you know I've been told that I'm too much?"</p><p>"What? Really?"</p><p>"Mhm."</p><p>"I don't see how."</p><p>"I'm a lot. I know I'm a lot. We've only known each other less than a month--"</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>"Seems like longer. Not in a, a bad way of course. Sorry, I cut you off."</p><p>"I agree it's not bad either. We've talked so much more about the bigger things than I ever have at this point in any other relationship, some relationships never reached this point ever."</p><p>"And that's...okay?"</p><p>"Are you kidding me? It's perfect! I love it. I want to talk, all the time. About everything. I want to talk about my day and talk about some movie I want to see and about the absolute tit that held up the line at the grocer and about the latest nail polish I’ve bought. I want to hear about your day and the latest book you’ve read and what nightmare customer you had and the latest, I don’t know, wine you've got. I want to send messages when I think of you no matter how ridiculous or off topic. I want to be in your company. I want to make realistic plans for the distant future and completely unattainable ones for the nearer days. I just. I want it all and I know that's too much. I,” they swallowed, “fall...too hard and too fast. I give too much of myself, too quickly. I want to share <em>everything</em> all the time right away. And it’s too much.”</p><p>Aziraphale tried to ignore the way his heart skipped at Crowley saying they ‘fall’. “I don’t think you're too much.”</p><p>“I’ve been holding it in, bunny.”</p><p>“Well don't.”</p><p>“You say that now.”</p><p>“And I mean it now. How about this, what if we came up with an…an arrangement?”</p><p>“An arrangement?”</p><p>“I shall endeavor not to think of myself as high maintenance and you have carte blanche to be as <em>much</em> as you want.”</p><p>“Are you <em>sure?”</em></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And what if that means me texting you a live feed of me reading your next recommendation?”</p><p>“Oh would you?”</p><p>“You’d <em>want</em> that?”</p><p>“Very much! It’s so difficult, I find, to talk about stories once it’s done because then you’re trying to think back to your initial reaction and thoughts and, well, guesses at what might happen, but you’re at the end so it’s all muddled. I like to know what you’re thinking and when and it’s easier to comment on a specific section when you’ve brought it up and,” he sighed, “I just enjoy the <em>experience.”</em></p><p>Crowley smiled, “Well. Remember that when it’s three a.m. and I’ve sent fifty texts…”</p><p>“Did you know,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning in, “there’s this wonderful feature called ‘silent mode’?”</p><p>“Oh alright, that’s how it’s going to be.”</p><p>“And you can put your phone <em>into</em> that mode.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“And you aren’t disturbed in the middle of the night.”</p><p>“Fascinating.”</p><p>They smiled at one another.</p><p>“Just think of all the messages I’ll have to read with my morning tea!”</p><p>“If you’re suuuure.”</p><p>“Uh-uh, that sounds like doubt! Remember the arrangement.”</p><p>Crowley shifted, “It's not just talking you know? Not just me yammering into the void. I like to be responded to. I could be alone otherwise. And I know, things slip through the cracks sure, but...it genuinely hurts if it happens too often. People joke about being left on read but it actually upsets me. Or, or if I say something and the response that comes has nothing o do with what I said. Like its not even acknowledged I spoke. I don’t...I don’t like that.</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. Left on red? What did traffic have to do with anything? He didn’t quite understand that reference but was able to parse all the rest. “Don’t worry, darling. I will endeavor to respond and be clear about when I can't, when I need space. Hmm. Perhaps an addendum to the arrangement.”</p><p>“That didn't take long.”</p><p>“Oh, hush. We're both afraid of being too much, of asking for too much, that there's the very real possibility, now that we've voiced these concerns, we won’t admit when we <em>do</em> need space. And I don't want that either. I don’t want to be too much. And I don’t think you are. But that doesn’t account for days when everything <em>else</em> is too much, and by no fault of your own, I might need space. The same goes for you. I want us to be able to voice that without fearing we’ll upset the other person. So if this feeling pops up…”</p><p>“Feeling of too much?”</p><p>“Of needing space. You’re the one who said we’re just humans with various needs, yes? Space can be one of those.”</p><p>“Fair.”</p><p>“We'll do what we've done so far and has seemed to work, we'll talk about it. Does that sound fair?"</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"Wonderful."</p><p>“Can I…share something with you?”</p><p>“Of course!”</p><p>“I um. I used to believe in what I liked to call the universal control theory.”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“Well, keep in mind this is based off my very <em>very</em> rudimentary science skills from school ages ago but, you know when you have an experiment, you have to have a control, yeah? And so if-if <em>love,</em> if romance, if relationships are the great experiment, then there has to be a constant. I mean, assuming any one at all is paying attention and we're not just spinning in space with no rhyme or reason, then there's rules to experiments. So if, if there's a sub group of this experiment for greysexual, panromantic, genderfluid they/thems, then the control group, yeah? Would be the ones that are alone. The experiment is to see what happens, how relationships play out, how love, and sexual attraction and romantic attraction and platonic attraction and all the labels for all the things play out, then the control, would... be alone.”</p><p>“I see,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And you…”</p><p>“I believe I was part of the control group.”</p><p>“You believed your-your <em>job</em> in the universe, your destiny...was to be alone?”</p><p>They shrugged. “Well, it's either that or, if we're assuming someone is pushing buttons and pulling strings, then it's either assuming that or that...they forgot about me.”</p><p>“Oh, Crowley.”</p><p>“So. Yeah. That made it easier.”</p><p>“Well. Not to completely destroy your thesis, but clearly you’re wrong.”</p><p>“Am I?”</p><p>“Obviously. Because I’m here now so I guess you’re part of the experiment.”</p><p>They smiled, “Can’t say things like that, bunny. Sweep me right off my feet.”</p><p>“Seems like you could do with some of that. You’re a bit tall, especially in those heels, but I think I could carry you.”</p><p>“Oh? Bridal style?”</p><p>“I was thinking more like a sack of flour, just toss you over my shoulder.”</p><p>They tilted their head back as they laughed.</p><p>Aziraphale folded his fingers between Crowley’s, “Shall we join the others?”</p><p>“Ugh, I suppose.”</p><p>“Hazards of being a good host.”</p><p>On the way back Aziraphale stopped to take in the art hanging on the walls. Crowley kept him company, answering any questions he had about the artist or where they acquired the piece. Later, they played board games and Aziraphale was treated to many embarrassing college stories about Crowley and Anathema. They were in the middle of a heated game of charades, in which they discovered that while Crowley was the better technical artist, Aziraphale was better at quickly conveying the message with simpler shapes in the time allotted, when the clock struck midnight. Aziraphale wouldn’t know it, but at the precise moment it turned midnight, he was laughing, truly, heartily laughing, tears in his eyes, thinking how much he loved his ridiculous girlfriend, who was complaining it wasn’t their fault no one knew what a biblically accurate angel looked like.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>~*~</p>
</div>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">



</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ok im up</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">lucy JUST left</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:13 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">dunno how he’s going to handle flying with that hangover but not my problem i’m GETTING BACK IN BED</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:14 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">and i’m starting this next book</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:15 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">and you said carte blanche</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">YOU ASKED FOR THIS</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:17 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">but tell me if you want me to stop</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:18 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">at any point</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:19 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">BUT UNTIL THEN</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:20 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">do you look at the maps in teh beginning of fantasy novels? i do cause someone put time into them and i appreciate the effort and the skill but stg i forget it the minute i start reading</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:24 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">how am i supposed to remember where tf THE ISLES OF EXRINIA ARE??? especially in relation to some mountain</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:25 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">there's always a mountain</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:26 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">oh this is VERY GAY</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:43 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ok i've only had altelon for 4 pages but if anything happens to him i'm going to be V UPSET</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 12:59 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">does something happen to him?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">im trusting you bunny</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 1:01 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">wow i hate everything about the king??? just??? everything???</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 1:17 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">yeah fuck that guy</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 1:19 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ALTELON!!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 1:47 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">my love is back <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span> <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span> <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span></span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 1:48 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">hmm.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 1:52 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">i WANT to trust voncile but i really really don't</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 2:03 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">do i smell an enemies to lovers plot???</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 2:16 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">bunny you sure know the way to my heart</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 2:17 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">WAIT WHY IS HE MEETING WITH DREKA WHAT IS THIS</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 2:35 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ok one more chapter and then i'm going to eat something</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 2:42 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">i said</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">like a liar</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:04 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ok after THIS chapter</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:05 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Have you eaten yet?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:23 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">…</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">&gt;_&gt;</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:25 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I don't know what those symbols mean but they aren't a 'yes', so perhaps you should eat something?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:26 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">oh like you've never lost an entire day to reading and forgot to feed your face</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:27 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">&gt;_&gt;</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:27 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">!!!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:28 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I still don’t know what it means but it felt appropriate. How about we BOTH get up and prepare some lunch?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:30 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">hhhh</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">fiiiiiiine</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:32 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I've been thinking about our conversation and rereading our messages and, I’m sorry in advance if this is foolish of me, but I don't understand why there were question marks in the middle of your sentence. Was that a mistake? I feel as though it wasn't and I'm not sure I understand how to read that. There's so many new rules and ways of speaking via text and I find it endlessly fascinating but I will admit I'm a bit behind. I don't understand half of what Anathema sends me. Did you know an ellipses is different from ,,, ? </span><span class="tssent"> 3:35 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">It’s just that if we’re going to be communicating via text frequently, I would like to be able to understand, not just guess, at your meanings. And you’ve never really made fun of me for asking things like this, and I feel as though you won’t talk down to me or mock me and I appreciate that safety.</span><span class="tssent"> 3:37 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Sorry again.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:39 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">For the silly questions.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:40 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">stop apologizing, i went to the bathroom</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">i’m glad you feel comfofrtable enough to ask.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:42 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">how about I call you, we can make lunch together over the phone, and I read the messages aloud to you so you can hear the difference?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:43 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Oh that would be wonderful! You’re so kind <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span>.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:44 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">And you can tell me all your thoughts on Altelon.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 3:45 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">OMG YES</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">FUCKING</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">FJDAKL;JFDA</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:48 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">HNNNNN</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I’M CALLIGN RIGH TNOW</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="ts"> 3:49 PM</span>
  </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i just wanna say that YES they are going into 2020 and NO there is NO COVID. i repeat NO COVID. they've already had to deal with various forms of homophobia and transphobia and poor aziraphale was abused and has ptsd and the rest of the world is likely on fire in various ways, what kind of all powerful creator would i be if i gave them a <em>pandemic</em> on top of all of that??<br/>*stares directly into the camera*</p><p>ANYWAY. maybe one day ill write a lockdown fic. today is not that day and this aint that fic &lt;3</p><p>also.<br/>i desperately need you to read Lucien as Him from the powerpuff girls</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow! wowowowow WOW<br/>Hello<br/>Hi!<br/>Happy New Year!<br/>So uh. Readership of this fic essentially <em>tripled</em> over the course of a week. I'm assuming most, if not all, of the new readers found this fic from seeing the art I commissioned! But if you've been with me for a while now... first, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE IN WAITING FOR AN UPDATE and second, I commissioned the incomparable and absolutely darling <a href="https://www.instagram.com/lonicera.caprifolium/"> Loni</a> to do a scene from <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585628/chapters/63113698#workskin"> chapter 9!</a> I've updated the chapter to embed the art so please do take a look and definitely give loni some love on their insta!</p><p>Wow. Hi again. I'm still just so floored by how many people not only found this but stuck around! When I started it I thought I was the only weirdo that wanted to read some good omens fanfic with actual communication XD I'm so glad I'm not alone! I don't want to promise anything in terms of consistent updating but I will TRY to update every 2 weeks. These chapters are averaging between 8 and 10k lately and that takes some time (plus the formatting oof, so please make sure your work skins are on!). So hopefully I'll be back in 2 weeks with another update! (I also have another on-going fic that updates weekly every Friday, but it's VERY different and much darker lol) Regardless of how long it takes me to write and update I do have the next 8 or so chapters plotted out, so this fic will end, it won't just fade into oblivion &lt;3.</p><p>Finally, I do want to note that as we continue to follow these two and the development of their relationship there's going to be some chapters coming up featuring sex and sexuality and just general hanky-panky. I will endeavor to write it in such a way that you can avoid reading those scenes if you prefer, however I can't promise they won't be referenced later in the fic in a way where you may or may not be able to figure out what happened through context clues. I'll update the rating when that happens. Right now there's just some making out but nothing that I think warrants a rating change.</p><p>Phew. Gosh. I'm just. so so so soso glad that you all are here. I read every single comment, even if I don't respond right away, I am reading them and they mean the absolute world to me. 2020 may be over but things are still hard and it means a lot that I'm able to do this one thing right, and put this one good thing into the world. Thank you all &lt;3<br/>ok ok im gonna stop gushing everywhere lol ENJOY THE CHAPTER!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley was in love. They were smitten. Head over heels gone. In the two weeks since New Year's, since their discussed Arrangement, they'd spoken almost every day. Sometimes they were long, in depth conversations about a book or a show or the arts, about climate change, about marches, about injustices, about mayo versus mustard. Sometimes they were just passing thoughts shared. Those most often came from Crowley. A complaint about shipping delays, plans for dinner, a picture of a particularly fluffy pigeon. They were nervous, those first few days, that Aziraphale would call for some space before long. Which would be fine. They had talked about this.</p><p>It didn't quell the insecurities though.</p><p>But then Aziraphale would send them something unprompted, something off topic. A quote from a book he was reading, a description of someone's purse that he thought they would like, a photo of the setting sun hitting the front windows of the shop just right.</p><p>And they would feel the words bubbling up. Buoyant on this feeling. Tap dancing on their tongue.</p><p>
  <em>I love you, bunny.</em></p><p>They'd typed it out, more than once, in varying degrees of sincerity and flippancy.</p><p><em>you're ridiculous i love you so much</em><br/>
<em>ilu &lt;3</em><br/>
<em>i fucking love you bunny</em><br/>
<em>fdjaklj god i love you</em>
</p><p>And every time they would delete it and instead send a barrage of heart emojis.</p><p> </p><p>It was harder, of course, when they were together in person. A barrage of heart emojis in person just translates into a utterly besotted look complete with goofy grin.</p><p>Aziraphale was becoming more comfortable around them. Let the bits of him he kept in control and under lock and key slip free. He was awfully petty at times. Incredibly snarky. So particular. And Crowley loved all of it. He was silly, and easy to rile up, and blushed so prettily. He discovered Crowley was powerless against a well-placed pout, however ridiculous, and he used it to his advantage.</p><p>They almost said it over lunch once. Not even lunch, over the <em>appetizers</em>.</p><p>"What's the matter, bunny? You've barely touched the chips and salsa. Don't like it?"</p><p>"I do I just...well, I don't like the chunks in salsa. Overall. Any salsa, it's not just this one."</p><p>"The chunks?" Crowley said. "You mean like, the onion and tomato and whatnot?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"The shit that makes salsa...salsa?"</p><p>"Yes. The chunks."</p><p>"So...what, d'you want just, what, tomato paste then?"</p><p>"Goodness no!" He sipped his water. Pinky out. Always out. It was ridiculous and an unconscious habit and they loved it. "How horrid. I like salsa. I like the seasonings and the flavor, it's so much more than 'tomato paste', dear. I just want chunkless salsa."</p><p>"Chunkless."</p><p>"Salsa. Yes. Chunkless salsa."</p><p>"Say 'chunk' again."</p><p>"Chunk," he said with an affected raise of his chin.</p><p>Crowley snorted, "I--bunny--it’s, I mean, it's what makes it <em>salsa </em>though."</p><p>"Well certainly if we have advanced far enough as a society to manage pulpless orange juice, we can manage chunkless salsa."</p><p>They'd almost said it right then. "God, I love" had tumbled out of their mouth before they caught it and finished with, "how particular you are."</p><p> </p><p>It'd been just over a month. If they counted from that first <em>official </em>meeting, where they actually learned each others <em>names</em>, that was the show on December 10th and that was barely over a month ago. (But if they counted from Halloween, well that was two months, almost two and a half really, but that was cheating.) Surely that was too soon. Too fast and too <em>much</em>, regardless of what Aziraphale said. You don't drop the big three in less than a month. So they swallowed it down and tried to wait. Wait to see if Aziraphale would ask them to tone it down a bit, would ask for space. They didn’t push it down far though, they couldn’t. It was so big, this feeling, it filled them to bursting. All the years they spent pretending they didn’t care, pretending they weren’t alone, pretending they weren’t hurting. All the times they swallowed down the tears of a date gone wrong, an evening with someone turned one-night stand, the ghosted conversations on dating apps. They thought they had lost it, you see. They thought they’d successfully pushed and squashed and ignored every hint of excitement, of giddy nervousness, of the very concept of being in love that they didn’t think they would ever find it again. That if the time ever came, they wouldn't be able to love the way they wanted, the way they used to, the way that had been sneered out of them.</p><p>They were wrong, of course. It hadn’t gone away. They hadn’t forgotten how. It had only been waiting and growing. Every excited rant about something that interested them that got buried, every heartfelt message, every thought of every gift or hug or meal made, every urge to be themself, to love as big and as hard as they could, it hadn’t gone away. It couldn’t. It doesn’t work that way. It had simply…waited. Simmered. Perhaps aged a bit. But it wasn’t <em>gone</em>.</p><p>They hadn’t forgotten how to love.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">

</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">hit me with your most controversial food take</span>
<span class="tssent"> 4:18 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">You mean besides my opinions on salsa?</span>
<span class="ts"> 4:35 PM</span>  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">dfak;lf </span>
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">yes</span><span class="tssent"> 4:42 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Hmm.</span><span class="ts"> 4:44 PM</span>
<span class="text">Well I don’t like lasagna.</span><span class="ts"> 4:45 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">you dont like lasanga</span><span class="tssent"> 4:46 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I do not. I like the CONCEPT of lasagna.</span><span class="ts"> 4:46 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">the ocncept of lasagna</span><span class="tssent"> 4:47 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Mhm. Meat and cheese and pasta and sauce, really it’s a very simple recipe for literal success.</span><span class="ts"> 4:48 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">and yet</span><span class="tssent"> 4:49 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I don’t like ricotta cheese.</span><span class="ts"> 4:51 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">you dont like ricotta cheese</span><span class="tssent"> 4:51 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I do not.</span><span class="ts"> 4:52 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">why</span><span class="tssent"> 4:53 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I don’t like its texture. I don’t like the way it tastes. It's just. Unappealing on all marks.</span><span class="ts"> 4:54 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">huh. fascinating</span><span class="tssent"> 4:55 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">What about you? Have you any controversial food opinions?</span><span class="ts"> 4:58 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">nah id ont think so</span><span class="tssent"> 4:59 PM</span>
<span class="breply">oh! here's one for you</span><span class="tssent"> 4:50 PM</span>
<span class="breply">one of my favorite breakfsts, i mean absolute favorite</span><span class="tssent"> 4:51 PM</span>
<span class="breply">top three easy</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="tssent"> 4:52 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Yes?</span><span class="ts"> 4:54 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">leftover pizza from the night before</span><span class="tssent"> 4:54 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh that’s not so bad.</span><span class="ts"> 4:55 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">straight from the fridge.</span><span class="tssent"> 4:55 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">What, cold?</span><span class="ts"> 4:57 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">yup. cold , hard pizza</span><span class="tssent"> 4:57 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh dear lord.</span><span class="ts"> 4:58 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">with a freshcup of coffee with cream</span><span class="tssent"> 4:59 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh dear LORD.</span><span class="ts"> 4:59 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">delicious.</span><span class="tssent"> 5:00 PM</span>
    <span class="breply"></span><span class="tssent"> 5:01 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">THAT'S in your TOP THREE?</span><span class="ts"> 5:02 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">easy.</span><span class="tssent"> 5:02 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I see.</span><span class="ts"> 5:04 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">gonna break up with me, bunny?</span><span class="tssent"> 5:05 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I'm still running the calculations, I'll get back to you.</span><span class="ts"> 5:06 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">hah! do you even like pizza?</span><span class="tssent"> 5:07 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Of course I like pizza, who doesn't like pizza?</span><span class="ts"> 5:08 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">i dont know, you might liek something more fancy. like, a calzone or something</span><span class="tssent"> 5:09 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">NO.</span><span class="ts"> 5:09 PM</span>
<span class="text">I HATE calzones.</span><span class="ts"> 5:10 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">hate's a strong word.</span><span class="tssent"> 5:11 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">And yet I use it.</span><span class="ts"> 5:12 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">pft</span><span class="tssent"> 5:12 PM</span>
<span class="breply">waht did calzones ever do to you?</span><span class="tssent"> 5:13 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Well for one thing the one and only time I ever had one it was COLD in the center.</span><span class="ts"> 5:15 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">oh bad luck that</span><span class="tssent"> 5:15 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">No bad cook, that. I just don’t understand who looked at a slice of pizza and thought, “ah yes, I can make this DIFFICULT.”</span><span class="ts"> 5:16 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">fjdkal;fjda</span><span class="tssent"> 5:16 PM</span>
<span class="breply">alright sudden death</span>
<span class="breply">you have to choose</span><span class="tssent"> 5:17 PM</span>
<span class="breply">calzone or my next day pizza meal</span><span class="tssent"> 5:18 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">...With the coffee?</span><span class="ts"> 5:20 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">with the coffee</span><span class="tssent"> 5:20 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Is the calzone hot through?</span><span class="ts"> 5:22 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">you'll never know until you take a bite</span><span class="tssent"> 5:22 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Ugh.</span><span class="ts"> 5:23 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">c'mooooon you gotta pick one</span><span class="tssent"> 5:23 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh fine. Your pizza breakfast.</span><span class="ts"> 5:25 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">YEEEESSSS</span><span class="tssent"> 5:25 PM</span>
<span class="breply">SUCK IT BEN WYATT</span><span class="tssent"> 5:26 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Who's Ben Wyatt?</span><span class="ts"> 5:28 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">dw about it, i win is the point :D</span><span class="tssent"> 5:29 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">And what is it you win?</span><span class="ts"> 5:33 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">:O</span><span class="tssent"> 5:33 PM</span>
<span class="breply">i thiiiiink</span>
<span class="breply">i win a kiss</span><span class="tssent"> 5:34 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh I’d love to but I’m too busy eating cold pizza and hot coffee, so sorry.</span><span class="ts"> 5:35 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">bastard</span><span class="tssent"> 5:36 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh! Well in THAT case I won’t suggest what I was going to.</span><span class="ts"> 5:37 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">:O!</span><span class="tssent"> 5:37 PM</span>
<span class="breply">what</span>
<span class="breply">no</span>
<span class="breply">tell me</span><span class="tssent"> 5:38 PM</span>
<span class="breply">what were you gonig to suggest</span><span class="tssent"> 5:39 PM</span>
<span class="breply">bunnnyyyyy</span><span class="tssent"> 5:40 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">I thought perhaps you might like to come over to mine? For lunch? Maybe this Thursday? I just feel so guilty we always go out and you often pay and I know, I know you say you don’t mind, but it would really make me feel a lot better if we ate in sometimes. I could make sandwiches or…something. I’m not a very good cook unfortunately. Could watch a show or discuss another book. Whatever you like, really.</span><span class="ts"> 5:47 PM</span> <span class="text">If you want to, of course.</span><span class="ts"> 5:48 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">YES!</span><span class="tssent"> 5:48 PM</span>
<span class="breply">i'd love that!</span><span class="tssent"> 5:49 PM</span>
<span class="breply">i’ll be sure to knock on frances’ door before yours to let her know we’re officially going inside</span><span class="tssent"> 5:50 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Oh good lord.</span><span class="ts"> 5:51 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale dusted the apartment twice. Vacuumed. Arranged the throw on the couch half a dozen different ways. The bathroom got scrubbed every day since he'd invited Crowley over and twice the day before the actual lunch date. All of his laundry was freshly washed, just to make sure the hamper was empty. He'd even washed the sheets, not that he expected (or wanted really) anything to happen but he'd been paranoid they weren't as fresh as could be. The carpet got fabreezed and all the windows were opened for two hours beforehand, despite the freezing temperature, to let in an abundance of fresh air.</p><p>He bought a fresh tin of biscuits, the ones they'd shared that first coffee date. He had sandwich fixings, nothing particularly fancy, some crisps, he didn't remember what kind Crowley had had in their cart at the grocer but he did remember they had crisps and the bag was orange so... hopefully he'd gone in the right direction. He knew they drank coffee, had heard them say decaf, but didn't know the first thing about coffee themselves so had gotten a jar of something instant and decaf and as expensive as he could afford hoping he was going to get what he was paying for. Then he remembered cream was a thing, Crowley had mentioned as much when describing their favorite breakfast (and oh god, was it <em>really? </em>). So he'd gone back to the store, asked where he could find coffee creamer and was asked if he wanted powdered or not. He couldn't imagine powdered cream would be appetizing, so he'd gone for the latter, hoping from there it would be a simple choice. How many different kinds of coffee creamer could there be, really?</p><p>He very nearly let out a sob when he got to the refrigerated section. How many different kinds of vanilla does one need? Or Irish cream? He saw one that had the same name, he was <em>certain</em>, as a brand of cereal. Google was no help, the bugger. Apparently one could put milk, or cream, or half and half. What the devil was half and half? What was it half <em>of?</em> He'd almost given up, tempted to try the powdered options because surely those would be less numerous, when he saw a bottle of toffeenut flavored creamer. And Crowley had mentioned toffeenut once before. It made up their winter drink. He couldn't quite remember what the other half was but none of the labels seemed quite right, so he settled for the toffeenut. (There was a brief existential crisis when he saw a bottle labeled <em>hazelnut </em>and well, which nut was it, but in the end he felt confident with his choice.)</p><p>He barely slept the night before and the day of he'd woken up at five in the morning, a full two hours before his normal time, which was much too early for any one to be awake and so he'd laid in his bed tossing and turning, determined to fall back asleep out of sheer willpower. He did, around eight, and woke up around ten feeling all out of sorts and regretting not having gotten up the first time around. He showered, and then wiped down the bathroom again, and made a light breakfast as Crowley was due to come over around two.</p><p>Then he sat.</p><p>And he waited.</p><p>He tried to read but he couldn't focus. It was a bit chilly, the windows being open but he refused to close them until it was closer to Crowley's arrival. He didn't what his small apartment to smell stuffy. And boring. And oh this was a bad idea. Crowley's apartment was so big and bright, sleek surfaces and art on the walls, a balcony, a whole spare room versus Aziraphale's glorified studio, a tragic lack of surface space and what was available was covered in books or little knick knacks. Perhaps he should cancel. Yes. Yes he should cancel. Reschedule for a day when he wasn't...him.</p><p>His phone chimed at 1:30.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">

</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">still good for this afternoon?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 1:30 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>He stared at the message. Truly unsure what to say.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">


</p>
  <p><span class="text">i know youre reading these cause its a half hour to and there's no way you aren't anxiously waitin gfor me to cancel on you</span><span class="ts"> 1:32 PM</span>
<span class="text">which im not going to</span><span class="ts"> 1:33 PM</span>
<span class="text">but if YOU want to cancel, that's ok</span><span class="ts"> 1:34 PM</span>
<span class="text">its also ok if you're nervous bunny</span>
<span class="text">i am too</span><span class="ts"> 1:36 PM</span>
<span class="text">my ability to sit properly in chairs is a well honed skill purely reserved for the public eye</span><span class="ts"> 1:37 PM</span>
<span class="text">get me indoors and its legs akimbo</span><span class="ts"> 1:38 PM</span>
<span class="text">also what if i sweat through my deodorant on the drive over?</span><span class="ts"> 1:40 PM</span>
<span class="text">frances will smell me from the elevator, the bloodhound</span><span class="ts"> 1:41 PM</span>
<span class="text">what if i have to FART</span><span class="ts"> 1:42 PM</span>
<span class="text">bunny</span>
<span class="text">bunny what IF D:</span><span class="ts"> 1:43 PM</span>
<span class="text">if you dont think ive bene up since some ungodly hour terrified of natural bodily gas then you have way, WAY too much confidence in me</span><span class="ts"> 1:44 PM</span></p>
</div><p> </p><p>Aziraphale laughed and felt a bit of the anxious knot in his shoulders relax a fraction. Oh how he loved them.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>He loved them.</p><p>Oh dear. He did, didn't he? It was too soon to feel that way though, wasn't it?</p><p>Truth was, it didn't take much for Aziraphale to fall. The bar was set exceedingly low. But Crowley by and far surpassed any expectations, any hopes he could have had. They were so kind and patient with him.</p><p>He jumped when his phone went off again.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ok seriously tho now im getting concerned are you alright?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 1:54 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>Aziraphale processed the time stamp and nearly dropped his phone in his haste to respond.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="breply">I'm sorry!</span><span class="tssent"> 1:55 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Yes</span>
<span class="breply">I'm alright.</span><span class="tssent"> 1:56 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Sorry! You were right I was reading your messages as they came in and then I got distracted, you're very entertaining darling, and I suppose I zoned out a bit. That happens sometimes, I am sorry.</span><span class="tssent"> 1:57 PM</span></p>
  <p><span class="text">oh ok</span><span class="ts"> 1:57 PM</span>
<span class="text">thats alright</span>
<span class="text">does that happen often?</span><span class="ts"> 1:58 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">More than I care to admit to be honest. I think part of me just accepted it as a part of life, it wasn't until later in my therapy and recovery that I realized it wasn't...exactly ‘normal’. Time moves odd for me sometimes. There are times when I send a message and I feel frustrated that I haven't gotten a response because its clearly been hours but really it's only been a few minutes. But to me it's felt, truly felt, like HOURS.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:00 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">damn</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:01 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">It's alright, I've gotten very good at minding myself and working to be aware of the reality of a situation before I react on my perhaps incorrect perceptions. (So I won’t complain at you for ignoring me, but if I slip up now you know where it might stem from.) It’s not often these instances happen, truly. I just lose track of time. Sometimes that means it moves really fast or there are times when I'm dissociating in the bread aisle for twenty minutes.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:03 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">oh shit</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:03 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">It's alright! A little embarrassing perhaps. And it only rarely segues into a panic attack.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:04 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>He winced. Why did he mention that? How stupid of him. Crowley already had the long list of things to avoid and things <em>wrong</em> with him, and so far it hadn't really come up since Christmas, but here he was reminding them of how broken he was. That eventually they were going to touch a jagged edge. It might not hurt, but it's never pleasant.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody"></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Anyway. We're still good for this afternoon.</span><br/>
<span class="breply">If I haven't scared you off.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:06 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">no such thing</span><span class="ts"> 2:06 PM</span>
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">should i bring anything from the market on my way?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:07 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">You don't have to, I tried to get a few things I thought you might like.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:08 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">great!</span><span class="ts"> 2:09 PM</span>
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">getting in the car now <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span> </span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:10 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>Aziraphale paced. Here he was, slowly but surely coming to realization that he might very well be in love with Crowley all while bombarding them with reasons to run in the other direction. It was a long list. The retreat inevitable, really. The logical part of him told him he was being ridiculous and that Crowley had reassured him time and time again then they had no interest in leaving. All things he'd heard before. The pragmatic part of him told him that Crowley leaving sure was a possibility but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy what he had now, while he had it. The paranoid and insecure and terrified part of him said that Crowley was on their way to break up in person because they were too kind to do it over text.</p><p>Aziraphale poured himself some water.</p><p>He just needed to breathe through this was all. It would be alright. They were going to have a nice afternoon. Eat some sandwiches. Have some crisps. Hopefully Crowley would like their gift. And they would just...exist in each other's company, which had never ever been difficult before, bringing Crowley into his safe space shouldn't make that any harder.</p><p>Unless of course they broke up and Aziraphale would forever look over at his couch and think about how they filled the space beside him.</p><p>He drank more water.</p><p>Crowley messaged when they were nearby and finding parking, no doubt to give Aziraphale warning they would soon be there. And again when they were coming into the building.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">downstairs! i dont think the intercom works</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:27 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Oh it doesn't. But neither does the door lock, so I suppose we don't really need it.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:28 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">jesus bunny</span>
<span class="text">it just swung right open!</span><span class="ts"> 2:30 PM</span>
<span class="text">waiting for the elevator now</span>
<span class="text">how long has it been that way?</span><span class="ts"> 2:31 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Oh, all year at least.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:32 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">har har</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:32 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>He thought it was funny. He considered unlocking the front door. So Crowley could knock and he'd say it's open and then Crowley would just swing in like they belonged there, like it was normal.</p><p>He didn't unlock it.</p><p>He <em>did </em>linger very close to the door and listen for the rattle of the elevator gate. When he heard it he got flustered all over again.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="text">I have exited the elevator.</span>
<span class="text">I am walking down the hall.</span><span class="ts"> 2:33 PM</span>
<span class="text">I am outside your door.</span>
<span class="text">last chance to cancel</span><span class="ts"> 2:34 PM</span>
<span class="text">not that you can't kick me out even once you let me in</span><span class="ts"> 2:35 PM</span>
<span class="text">i’m not a vampire</span>
<span class="text">sup to you</span>
<span class="text">your house</span>
<span class="text">do whatever you like</span>
<span class="text">hi im nervous</span><span class="ts"> 2:36 PM</span></p>
</div><p> </p><p>Aziraphale set his phone down on the coffee table and opened the front door.</p><p>"Hello, darling."</p><p>"Hey. Hi. It's me."</p><p>And just like that he was smiling again, "It's you."</p><p>Crowley shuffled in and Aziraphale took his coat.</p><p>"Oh should I? Shoes?"</p><p>"If you please."</p><p>"Right."</p><p>He watched them toe off their running shoes and realized they were quite dressed down, at least by Crowley standards. Some floral print leggings (he’d started to learn the names of these articles of clothing, in case he wanted to get a gift of course), an over-sized pullover with a picture of a cartoon cat…</p><p>“Is that cat inside of a taco?”</p><p>“Tacocat.”</p><p>“Tacocat.”</p><p>“It’s a palindrome.”</p><p>“Yes of course that explains…nothing.”</p><p>They shrugged, slipping their glasses off. “Tour?”</p><p>“Oh! Yes. Right. Well. There’s not much to see, really.” He gestured around them, the couch against the left wall, the small dining table across the door, “this is the living room and also the dining room and,” he turned and gestured to the right side, “the kitchen.” A recess with grand aspirations to be an alcove housed fridge, sink and stove all in a row. A very small wall that separated living room from kitchen provided a hint of counter space on the kitchen side.</p><p>“It’s cozy.”</p><p>“I know ‘cozy’ is polite for ‘small’, you know. Come, I’ll hang up your coat and show you the rest.” He led Crowley past the fridge and down a narrow hall. A couple of windows on the left. Normal windows, no floor to ceiling business here. And on the right, a closet, which he hung the coat in, followed by a bathroom, and then a small area just large enough for his queen sized bed, a night stand, and a bureau. There wasn’t even a door separating it from the rest of the apartment. “Ta-da,” he said flatly.</p><p>Crowley looked around with a small smile on their face. They studied the comforter, a faded rosy thing with some kind of flower, the books on the nightstand (and on the bureau and in the window sill).</p><p>“This is…west facing?”</p><p>“Mhm, the sunset now isn’t much to see, but in the summer it hits my bed just so and sometimes I like to sit and read in it. I like the patterns the blinds cast. It feels a bit romantic in a, I don’t know, I don’t know what kind of way but it does.”</p><p>They looked from him to the bed with a nod, “I can see it. Little plate of biscuits by your side.”</p><p>“I’d say I would never nibble in bed but… well, there may or may not be a wine stain on the mattress.”</p><p>“Well wine’s understandable, everyone sips a little in bed.”</p><p>He looked at his feet.</p><p>“Unless it’s more than just wine?”</p><p>“Yes alright, there might be a very small, tiny, practically imperceptible really, you wouldn’t see it if you didn't know where to look—”</p><p>“What is it, bunny?”</p><p>“…salsa stain.”</p><p>Crowley tilted their head back in a bark of laughter.</p><p>“It’s those blasted chunks! They snap the chips right in half, you know!”</p><p>“The salsa plot thickens.”</p><p>“I certainly hope not, the chips can hardly handle it at its current consistency thank you.”</p><p>“Adorable.”</p><p>“Yes well, this is it. My very, very humble abode.”</p><p>“I like it. A bit freezing though, you aren't cold?”</p><p>“Oh dear, I forgot!” Aziraphale darted behind Crowley to close the window and then the one a littler further down the hall, leaving it open just an inch or so. “I wanted to let in some fresh air.”</p><p>“All that salsa and wine smell I bet.”</p><p>“Oh hush you, or you won’t get your gift.”</p><p>“Gift? What gift?” They followed Aziraphale back to the living room, “Aren't I the one s’posed to bring <em>you</em> a gift? Coming to your place?”</p><p>“I think that only counts for house warmings, I’ve been here several years now already.” He lifted the throw off the couch cushion to reveal a small puzzle box, which he held out to Crowley. “I thought you might like to build one together?”</p><p>“Oh! Oooo.”</p><p>It was a starry night sky, the silhouette of some mountains in the foreground. “I know you like the stars so…”</p><p>“I do?”</p><p>“Well. Your cell phone case has a galaxy print on it. And your bookmark is as well. I think you were wearing tights of some sort the first time we met with stars on them. Well, the second time. The first time we spoke. In the market. And you often wear jewelry with star motifs, did you really not know?”</p><p>Crowley stared at him wide eyed. “…Huh. I mean. Yeah I. I guess I do gravitate towards. Huh. No I never really noticed it was that much.”</p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>“Are you kidding? I love it! Three hundred pieces? We could finish this today!”</p><p>“Oh you vastly overestimate my abilities.”</p><p>But they were already sitting on the floor, tearing into the box, “Do you want to do it on normal or hard mode?”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware puzzles came with difficulty settings. Whatever is hard mode?”</p><p>“We don’t look at the box while we build.”</p><p>“Oh goodness, I suppose ultra hard would be turning all the pieces over and doing it that way.”</p><p>Crowley looked up from the pile of puzzle pieces they’d just dumped onto the coffee table, eyes wide and said in a hushed voice, “How have I never thought of that?”</p><p>“Oh no. Well if you’re going to play on ‘ultra hard mode’ I think I’ll find a book to—”</p><p>“No no no! I want to build with you! We can do normal mode. Here,” they propped the lid up on the table, “bam. Right there. Build with me?”</p><p>"Of course, dearheart, I'd love to. Shall I put on the kettle?"</p><p>Crowley grunted something of the affirmative as they sorted and flipped puzzle pieces.</p><p>While Aziraphale filled the kettle and pulled out cups and tea and the dreaded instant coffee, he did hope Crowley liked it, his mind started to wander once more. There was something he was supposed to talk to Crowley about before the afternoon got well underway. He hadn't forgotten, he couldn't forget, he'd been rehearsing the words over and over since he invited them, but he was nervous. It was yet another boundary he had to lay out, more rules and lines in the sand, specific gloves to put on to handle the volatile substance known as The Aziraphale. The Azirpahale wasn't likely to explode, although that was a possibility, so much as it would probably deflate into a very pathetic human-esque puddle and cry all over the place. But it simply had to be done. He didn't often invite people into his home, his safe space, and he needed to do all he could to <em>keep</em> it safe.</p><p>"Bunny?”</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>"You're staring into space."</p><p>"Yes. Right. Sorry."</p><p>"Everything alright?"</p><p>Aziraphale moved over to the couch and sat down, "There is something I need to speak to you about."</p><p>"Yeah, 'course. Go for it."</p><p>"I um. Well you see. Hmm." He swallowed. "I have routines. It's how I make it through...life, really. I have a morning routine for here at home, one for when I get to the shop, I have an afternoon routine for my days off, and an evening routine. I have contingency plans for all of them. My evening one is really important. Well, so is the morning. They're all important. Um, I. For the evening I do things at certain times. I do all of them at-at certain times that’s how routines work. Obviously. You know that.”</p><p>Crowley reached over the coffee table to put a hand on his knee, “Breathe. Take your time.”</p><p>He nodded. Took a breath. “I have an evening cup of tea, I read a little, depending on the day I might have a relaxing bubble bath. But it all starts at certain times. And if they don't, that-that's fine, I have contingency plans. Things can be moved around or cut out if need be. But I can't, I can't do it often. And so it would help if I um. If I knew," he cleared his throat, "for-for certain that when you come over, erm, if I uh. It would help if I knew ahead of time how to plan my evening, or was able to plan for a worst-case scenario. Not that you being here for any length time is worst-case! Oh I’m not explaining this well.”</p><p>“Do you need me to leave by a certain time?”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>,” he said in a heavy exhale. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy spending time with you, my dear, it’s not that at all! I just. If I know the absolute latest you’ll be here when you’re over, then I know the absolute latest my routine will begin and I can plan accordingly.”</p><p>“What time would you like me gone by?”</p><p>“Ten p.m. Please?”</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>“That’s not too much?”</p><p>“It’s your house, bunny. If you don’t want me, or anyone, here past a certain time you’re allowed to say so.”</p><p>“I don’t want you to think I’m, I don’t know, counting the minutes till you leave, I’m not!”</p><p>“I don’t think that.”</p><p>“And, and it isn’t a hard rule. Well no it is. It’s, well, it’s semi-hard I suppose. Oh, I just heard that come out of my mouth.” He rubbed his palms against his legs.</p><p>“You’re doing great, ‘ziraphale. And I’m really glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me what you need. That’s important to me.”</p><p>“Right. Right. Yes. Well then. No later than ten p.m. please. Although, there can certainly be nights when you stay later, I’m sure I won’t mind occasionally, I have plans for that. Or-or earlier! If you. Get bored or. Don’t want to be here anymore.”</p><p>“Can’t imagine that, but good to know. One question.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“What about when you come to mine? Do you need to <em>leave </em>mine by ten or be <em>here </em>by ten?”</p><p>“Oh! Oh that’s a very good question. Thank you. Be here by ten, yes. Again there’s, wiggle room, but, as close to ten as possible.”</p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>“Alright. Um. Yes. That’s. Hmm.”</p><p>“How you feelin’?”</p><p>“Anxious. It’s a lot. I know it is. I know I am.”</p><p>“Not even remotely. Honestly I wish I could set down expectations as clearly as you can. Would’ve saved me a <em>lot </em>of grief in previous relationships. And friendships. Game night always sounds like a great idea until its 1am and everyone is having profound existential discussions and I’m the only one sorting and putting away the monopoly money and I really want them to find their place in the universe not in my flat.”</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled, “There’s that being able to ask for space we talked about.”</p><p>“You’re right. Speaking of <em>space</em>, come on, I flipped them all over but I haven’t sorted out the edge pieces yet.”</p><p>He slid down to the floor, leaning his back on the couch, grateful for Crowley’s ability to shift from intense and important Discussions into casual time together. Every new revelation or rule felt heavy, difficult to heft up and explain and even harder to put back in its box once it’s out. But Crowley made him feel like he didn’t have to. Like he could bring out this piece of himself, however jagged the edges, set it out, and leave it out. Like it had its place to be, where it could be seen, and noted, and honored, but it didn’t have to hide and he didn’t have to drag it around.</p><p> </p><p>They worked together in comfortable quiet for almost an hour before Crowley asked whatever happened to the tea and Aziraphale realized he’d never turned on the kettle. It was just as well, he needed to stretch his legs and back, he assumed Crowley did as well from the way they sprawled out across the floor. He didn’t know what they were doing but he knew enough to know it was some kind of yoga stretch. They looked sort of like a triangle, he thought, head toward the ground. And then their top slid down a bit, exposing their side and stomach and the way their leggings really were painted on and Aziraphale whipped around to read the ingredients on that bottle of creamer.</p><p>Oh dear.</p><p>They had a lovely arse.</p><p>The water started to come to a boil thankfully, and he was able to distract himself further.</p><p> </p><p>From there they drank their tea, had some sandwiches, and built more of the puzzle. They talked a bit, about the shop, the gallery. Crowley talked about some of their favorite and least favorite puzzles over the years, how they’d gotten started on them (a nanny when they were younger was very keen). Aziraphale didn’t quite have stories about nannies but he did have stories about after school programs and weekends spent in libraries. Before long Crowley slithered up and onto the couch and they were talking more than they were puzzle-building and that was fine. They'd gotten the frame done, most of the mountains. It was all stars now, really.</p><p>But building stars took time, and not a small amount of patience.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I tell you something, bunny?”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p>“You have very kissable lips.”</p><p>“Is that why your gaze keeps wandering?”</p><p>“S’not wandering. It’s looking. With purpose. Respectably, of course.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Can I kiss you?”</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want to keep looking respectfully?”</p><p>“I can do both. I can kiss you <em>very </em>respectfully.”</p><p>“Do tell.”</p><p>“I’d rather show.”</p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t really stop the wiggle that overcame him, a grin already on his face.</p><p>“Is that a ‘yes’?”</p><p>“It’s a yes. I can’t imagine a negative wiggle, truth be told.”</p><p>But Crowley already inched closer on the couch, leaned in. It was soft, a gentle press as though they were asking permission a second time. Crowley smelled a bit like lavender. They always did. Aziraphale wondered if it was their shampoo. A perfume? He didn’t know but he loved it either way. Aziraphale caught their mouth with his, returning the kiss with he hoped enough enthusiasm to really drive home the ‘yes’.</p><p>It didn’t take long for him to realize this was different. It was different kissing on the couch, in his home. It wasn’t a stolen kiss at work, or a quick peck at the bus stop. It wasn’t even the more leisurely moments outside his front door. There was no one around. No one to suddenly come down the hall, no people huddled in the bus shelter. This space, and moment, was theirs alone.</p><p>A hand against his cheek as Crowley pressed in, pulled him closer. Without thinking Aziraphale wraps his arms around them and leaned back on the couch, taking them with. He felt Crowley smile against his lips. They fit right in, right against him, nestled between his slightly spread legs like they belonged there. Like a piece of him had been missing until just then. He didn’t have long to marvel at the feeling before Crowley’s tongue teased at his lower lip.</p><p>Another silent question.</p><p>He wanted to tell them they didn’t have to be so terribly cautious with him all the time, although they understood and appreciated it. But surely after that very first, very ridiculous kiss in the hall, surely they were a bit past nervousness here? In this area? He tilted his head, opened his mouth, a soft whimper.</p><p>Crowley got the hint.</p><p>Aziraphale melted into the feeling of it all. Crowley’s hand on his waist, the other cupping his face, sliding into his hair. It was <em>perfect</em>. Crowley made the most wonderful sounds and they fit so right in his arms and —oh.</p><p>Oh he should perhaps…</p><p>“Ah, hmm, C-Crowley?”</p><p>They shifted to kiss the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw.</p><p>“I um. I wanted to say that uh, well I’d rather like it if, hmmm, that’s very nice.”</p><p>“You’d like it if?”</p><p>“Oh right, yes.” He pulled back a bit, just enough to catch Crowley’s eye. “I’d rather appreciate it if everything could stay, uh, <em>above</em> the waist for now?”</p><p>“I can do that.”</p><p>“Even if, erm, it…seems…like I might…want otherwise.”</p><p>“Ignore any unsanctioned boners, got it.”</p><p>Aziraphale felt his face heat, “Right. That.”</p><p>“I like the way you blush, y’know? Wonderful pink splotches.”</p><p>He let out an offended scoff.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“My dear I’ve read quite a bit and I can’t recall ‘splotches’ every being used in a positive light.”</p><p>“Well then you clearly aren't reading books about art. I’ve never been a fan of overly worked pieces. That airbrushed look. So smooth and perfect and unreal. I prefer to see the strokes, the clear lines,” they traced a finger over his cheek, “where it begins,” they slid their finger tip to his jaw, “and ends. The lines between. Although…” Their finger trailed down his throat and Aziraphale swallowed. “I s’pose if I keep going like this there won’t be a line,” they chuckled, “you’ll just be bright red all over.”</p><p>“Oh and then your art would be ruined.”</p><p>“Never.”</p><p>And they were kissing again. It wasn’t long before Crowley pulled away this time.</p><p>“For the record,” they said, “you can touch me wherever you like.”</p><p>“Well that’s hardly <em>fair</em>.”</p><p>“S’not a matter of fair, bunny. S’amatter of comfort. You’re not comfortable with certain things, and that’s perfectly fine. I, however, am <em>very</em> comfortable with your lovely hands all over me. If you want to, of course.”</p><p>He frowned, “That’s like putting a very delicious slice of cake in front of me and saying I can’t have any.”</p><p>“No, it’s the exact opposite. It’s me saying you <em>can</em> if you want. But only if you want.”</p><p>He tentatively slid his hands to Crowley’s waist, “Is this alright?”</p><p>They grinned, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”</p><p>The next bit of kissing didn’t last nearly as long before Crowley leaned back once more. “If I were a cake though, what kind would I be?”</p><p>“Oh! Hmm…” Aziraphale looked off in thought. It was a good question. A lot of options though, a lot to narrow down.</p><p>“You’re going to put actual thought into this.”</p><p>“Of course I am, my dear.”</p><p>“Alright while you do that I’ll just…” They leaned in, pressing kisses to his jaw, exploring down his throat.</p><p>“That’s, oh, darling. I can’t think when you’re—hmmm…”</p><p>Crowley didn’t let up and Aziraphale found that he didn’t mind in the slightest. He did discover that he rather wished their hair wasn’t in that braid as he wanted to run his hand through it. Crowley’s hands wandered but, true to their word, never below his waist. A thumb caressed over his nipple and even through the fabric of his clothes it sent a jolt through him, his hips bucking up involuntarily.</p><p>Crowley grinned against his throat. “Bunny?”</p><p>“Hmm?” It came out a bit of a squeak.</p><p>“Cake?”</p><p>“Oh. I-I suppose we can if, hmm,” he swallowed, tried to catch his breath, “if you like. I’m certainly not opposed. There’s a uh, a bakery nearby.”</p><p>They pushed up, grin wide, “What <em>kind</em> am I?”</p><p>Aziraphale stared at him a moment before it clicked. “Oh!” He swatted their arm, “I told you I couldn’t think with you doing all of that!”</p><p>They shimmied down a bit, resting their hands on his stomach, chin on top of their hands. “Alright. No more distracting necking.”</p><p>Aziraphale wondered how Crowley wasn’t distracted by what must certainly be casually poking them in the chest.</p><p>He cleared his throat, “Well. I do think you’d be something chocolaty. Perhaps a bit of raspberry. I had a nice Chocolate Raspberry Truffle cake not too long ago.”</p><p>“Fascinating. Please state your case.”</p><p>“Chocolate is rich and decadent in flavor. It can be very fancy, molded into intricate shapes and patterns, or very simple, just a bit of drizzle here or there, a simple square. It’s hugely versatile. The raspberry adds a bit of tartness, just enough to give it some personality, a pop of color. Although I do wonder if you’d be the type of cake to have perhaps a ganache shell. Something to break through to get to all that decadence waiting beneath. Ganache would be thin, not difficult at all really. It’s more for show.”</p><p>“Huh…” The smile had fallen from their face. “What makes you say that? About the shell?”</p><p>“Well you’ve been nothing but honest and open and communicative with me but…some of those pieces in Fallen make me wonder. And we did sit and talk about you not holding back, not being afraid of being too much. What you told me about your control theory. Things to protect yourself but I don’t think you want to be <em>hidden</em>, just safe.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you—”</p><p>“No, no. I just didn’t expect to be so thoroughly read via desserts.” They turned their head, resting a cheek against Aziraphale’s stomach. “It’s nice. Feel, I dunno. Seen.”</p><p>Aziraphale ran his hands over their shoulders and down their back in soothing motions.</p><p>The two stayed like that for some time before Crowley stirred, tilting their head back to look up at Aziraphale while barely moving from their position.</p><p>“Pssst.”</p><p>Aziraphale cracked open an eye, “Hmm?”</p><p>“Wanna go get some cake?”</p><p>“Oh thank god,” he said on an exhale, Crowley laughing. “It’s just been bouncing around the back of my head this whole time but I wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it.”</p><p>Crowley sat up, pressed a quick kiss to their lips and climbed off the couch, “I’ll put on my shoes.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
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  <p>
    <span class="text">home safe and sound <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span></span>
    <span class="ts"> 6:47 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">Wonderful!</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 6:49 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">glad you didnt' cancel too</span>
    <span class="ts"> 6:51 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">I am as well my dear. I had a wonderful afternoon. You? Did you enjoy yourself?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:02 PM</span>
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  <p>
    <span class="text">immensely <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span><span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span><span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span></span>
    <span class="ts"> 7:05 PM</span>
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  <p>
    <span class="breply">Good because I have a question for you. What are you doing Wednesday evening? Any plans?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:09 PM</span>
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  <p>
    <span class="text">probably aving dinner with my bf tbh</span>
    <span class="ts"> 7:22 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">Oh that's good. It is his birthday after all.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:24 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">wait really? fr?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 7:25 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">Mhm! I don't usually do anything big for the day, lunch with Tracy or Anathema. Some truly decadent cake for the evening. And I wasn't sure if you were opposed to celebrating birthdays?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:27 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">i'm not! i don't do anythign big either but i'm not like anti-birthday</span><span class="ts"> 7:29 PM</span>
<span class="text">you want to go out?</span><span class="ts"> 7:30 PM</span>
<span class="text">or oh</span>
<span class="text">we could stay in and i could cook you something!</span><span class="ts"> 7:31 PM</span></p>
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    <span class="breply">Oh are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose!</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:38 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">no imposing at all, im offering!</span><span class="ts"> 7:43 PM</span>
<span class="text">i could come over ot yours</span>
<span class="text">bring whatever i need</span><span class="ts"> 7:44 PM</span></p>
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    <span class="breply">My kitchen isn't as big as yours..</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:46 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">nah it's fine! </span><span class="ts"> 7:46 PM</span>
<span class="text">wont be making a 3 course meal or anything</span>
<span class="text">just something nice and simple</span><span class="ts"> 7:47 PM</span>
<span class="text">i just didn't think you'd want the anxiety of coming to my place for the first time, as a date, jsut the two of us, new years doesnt really count, on your birthday</span><span class="ts"> 7:49 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">If I'm being honest you're absolutely correct.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:51 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">alright!</span>
<span class="text">its settled then!</span><span class="ts"> 7:52 PM</span>
<span class="text">how old ar eyou turning?</span><span class="ts"> 7:53 PM</span></p>
  <p><span class="breply">Forty-eight.</span><span class="tssent"> 7:54 PM</span>
<span class="breply">When's yours?</span><span class="tssent"> 7:55 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">nov 10th</span>
    <span class="ts"> 7:56 PM</span>
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  <p>
    <span class="breply">Oh I just missed it!</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:57 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">not really</span>
<span class="text">was a few months ago</span><span class="ts"> 7:59 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Still. How old did you turn?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 8:00 PM</span>
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  <p>
    <span class="text">big 5-0</span>
    <span class="ts"> 8:00 PM</span>
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  <p>
    <span class="breply">Oh you're officially middle aged!</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 8:02 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">....</span><span class="ts"> 8:03 PM</span>
<span class="text">so dinner with a side of arsenic then?</span><span class="ts"> 8:04 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Oh hush you. You don't look a day over forty-nine.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 8:05 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">:O</span>
    <span class="ts"> 8:05 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Maybe 365 days over.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 8:06 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">:O!!</span><span class="ts"> 8:06 PM</span>
<span class="text"></span><span class="ts"> 8:07 PM</span></p>
  <p><span class="breply">OH MY GOODNESS!!</span>
<span class="breply"><span class="x1F602"><span class="hide">(Face With Tears Of Joy )</span></span><span class="x1F602"><span class="hide">(Face With Tears Of Joy )</span></span><span class="x1F602"><span class="hide">(Face With Tears Of Joy )</span></span></span><span class="tssent"> 8:08 PM</span></p>
</div><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Volunteering to make dinner for Aziraphale had seemed like a good idea at the time, and it still did, but Crowley had gotten more and more nervous over the whole thing as the week went on, and the days got closer. They'd decided to go with a simple dish, a chicken parmesan recipe they could make in their sleep. It didn't require many ingredients, most of which they assumed Aziraphale would already have in his cabinet. When they told him what they were making, to be sure he even liked it, and what the recipe recquired...it was clear some shopping needed to happen. Aziraphale picked up a few things throughout the week, some of the seasonings, oil, cheeses, things Crowley really thought he ought to have in his kitchen already. They bought everything else, they insisted since it was his birthday, and would bring it the night of.</p><p>It was simple.</p><p>So simple.</p><p>They'd go over. Make dinner. The two of them would eat. Have some wine. Crowley got some cake as a surprise. Some more wine maybe. Hopefully some cuddling on the couch, Aziraphale was so fucking soft and sturdy and <em>present </em>and Crowley just wanted to hold onto the anchor of him and sink in and never get up again.</p><p>Unless, of course, Crowley burned the meal. Set the kitchen on fire, maybe. What if the cake got smushed on the drive over? What if they spilled wine all over his carpet?</p><p>So many what ifs.</p><p>They kept Crowley up the night before, nervously picking at a lose thread in their comforter. The day of they texted Aziraphale bright and early.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">GOOD MORNING BUNNY!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:38 AM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">BIRTHDAY BUNNY!!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">
      <span class="x2764">
        <span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span>
      </span>
      <span class="x2764">
        <span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span>
      </span>
      <span class="x2764">
        <span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span>
      </span>
    </span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:39 AM</span>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>Then they'd kicked themselves for being ridiculous and too much until he responded.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text"></span>
    <span class="ts"> 8:42 AM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">FJDKALFJADLK;JF</span>
<span class="breply">Holyshit amazing</span><span class="tssent"> 8:44 AM</span>
<span class="breply">where did you find that?</span><span class="tssent"> 8:45 AM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Anathema has been inundating me with them ever since she heard you say it. I figured out how to save a few.</span>
    <span class="ts"> 8:47 AM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">you’ve just been WAITING for the right time to spring this on me havent you?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 8:49 AM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Perhaps.</span><span class="ts"> 9:07 AM</span>
<span class="text">I’ve taken my texting etiquette lessons very seriously you know.</span><span class="ts"> 9:08 AM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">i’ll believe it hwen I see some lack of punctuation</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 9:10 AM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">&gt;_&gt;</span>
    <span class="ts"> 9:24 AM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">fjdlakj</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 9:32 AM</span>
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p>And they’d almost said it again. They had already typed ‘I love you’ and were on the third heart emoji before they realized what they were doing and frantically deleted it. (But not too frantically lest they accidentally hit send.)</p><p>They went to the gallery for lack of anything else to do besides pace their apartment. Apparently Aziraphale worked on his birthday. Crowley was beginning to wonder if the man had ever taken a day off, called out sick. So, they went to the gallery, answered emails, caught up with Uriel about the progress on her thesis, she was probably going to leave them soon, once she graduated, and they knew they were going to miss her. They wandered upstairs to the third floor to test some lighting for upcoming displays. Browsed Instagram for a while. Then Twitter. Then back to Instagram. Around two o’clock they slipped out to get some coffee and stretch their legs, Uriel shouting ‘no foam’ after them. They couldn’t go by the shop, apparently they were getting a bunch of deliveries in and so Aziraphale would be busy taking inventory.</p><p>Crowley frowned. He should be at home, with his feet up, drinking giant cups of cocoa and reading soppy fantasy romance novels. Maybe a plate of biscuits in his lap. While they contemplated all the ways they would spoil Aziraphale if ever given the chance, Anathema messaged them.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="text">So I'm not having lunch with aziraphale on his bday for the first time in ages</span><span class="ts"> 2:12 PM</span>
<span class="text">Apparenlty he has a DATE</span>
<span class="text">With hsi BOYFRIEND</span><span class="ts"> 2:13 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">omg nathema im so fuckin nervous</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:15 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Lol why???</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:15 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">i dont want to fuck this up!</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:16 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">He said you're making him dinner</span><span class="ts"> 2:17 PM</span>
<span class="text">He's really excited about it crowley</span><span class="ts"> 2:18 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">WAY TO ADD THE PRESSURE</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:18 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Pffft</span>
<span class="text">You'll be fine</span><span class="ts"> 2:20 PM</span>
<span class="text">Aziraphale is honestly the most chill person ive ever met</span><span class="ts"> 2:21 PM</span></p>
</div><p>Crowley frowned at the message.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p><span class="text">I mean yeah he's a little anxious and a little particular but ive never seen him freak out about anything ever</span><span class="ts"> 2:24 PM</span>
<span class="text">You'll be fiiiine</span><span class="ts"> 2:25 PM</span></p>
</div><p>They knew she was trying to be supportive, and encouraging, but all Crowley could think reading those messages was how much did Anathema actually know? How much had Aziraphale spelled out for her the way he had for them? How many times had something happened that truly upset him and he swallowed it down? Worked through his steps in his mind, under his breath, all while smiling? Waited until he was home where he was alone? How much had Aziraphale trusted Crowley with more than anyone else?</p><p>It made that tap dancing feeling settle a bit. Not out of disinterest, but reverence. Awe. They felt humbled. They loved him so much and even if it was too soon to say it aloud, Aziraphale had already done so much to show how much he loved and trusted them as well.</p><p>Crowley blinked back tears. They really, really didn't want to fuck this up.</p><p> </p><p>They had offered to pick Aziraphale up from work, of course, but he said he needed some time to go from work mode and settle before having dinner. So Crowley agreed to come by for seven, which gave Aziraphale a half hour to relax and breathe and hopefully work through any nerves. Crowley managed to get parking right out front which they took as a good sign as well as an opportunity to sit and breathe through their own nerves. When they were ready, they grabbed the bag of groceries and their purse and headed out.</p><p>The entrance was <em>still </em>unlocked and it irked Crowley to no end. It was so <em>unsafe</em>. Just anyone could wander in. Frances might see everything but would she stop someone from axe-murdering their boyfriend? They shot Aziraphale a text while they waited for the elevator.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">in the lobby</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:07 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">just waiting for the elevator</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:08 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>When they got to his door they set another text instead of ringing the bell.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">dinner has arrived!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">i also have the stuff to cook <span class="x1F61C"><span class="hide">(Face With Stuck-Out Tongue And Winking Eye )</span></span></span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:09 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>No response. They listened but didn't hear any movement on the other side of the door either.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">as in i'm outside your front door</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:11 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">bunny?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 7:14 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>When another few moments went by with no response Crowley rang the bell. Any moment Aziraphale would send him a frantic message apologizing for zoning out. Or would answer the door a bit flustered. Everything was fine. Perfectly fine. Tickety-boo.</p><p>Crowley called.</p><p>When the line started to trill, they leaned closer to the door but didn’t hear anything coming from inside. It rang. And rang. Just when they thought it was going to go to voicemail for sure it clicked over.</p><p>“Crowley! Darling! I’m so sorry!”</p><p>“Is everything alright? Are you okay?”</p><p>“I am, yes, I’m perfectly fine. There’s been a bit of a situation at the shop.”</p><p>“Situation? What kind of situation? Do you need me to come over?”</p><p>“No no, it’s all about handled now. When I was sweeping up before close I noticed some water on the floor, apparently there’s a leak coming in from upstairs! A few books got damaged by the time I noticed. I moved all of the displays in the area but couldn’t get through to the upstairs tenant. I thought it was an isolated incident, a leaky sink perhaps, but when I examined the ceiling I noticed some spots going along in a line.”</p><p>“Aw shit.”</p><p>“Yes, indeed. I think there might be something wrong with one of the pipes so…I moved ALL of the books and displays underneath, just in case it gets worse overnight. It’s…taken some time unfortunately.”</p><p>“What? No one’s there to help?”</p><p>“Bee had an appointment I’m afraid and left early. But it’s alright, I’m just about done, I’m so sorry, I meant to text you when I realized I would have to move everything and apparently I never hit send! I’m so sorry, darling.”</p><p>“No, no it’s okay. I’m just, y’know glad you’re okay not…just. Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m really am sorry, my dear. I’m just about done though and should be able to catch the next bus. The ride itself is about twenty minutes and it takes me about eight to walk home.”</p><p>“Oh. Crap.”</p><p>“You’ve got the groceries, haven’t you?”</p><p>“I do, yeah. S’alright I can um. Wait…in the car?”</p><p>“Nonsense. Underneath the potted plant at the end of the hall is a spare key. You can use that to get in if you like. I have a bit of a history with forgetting or losing my key, you see.”</p><p>“To your…into your apartment?”</p><p>“Mhm. It would be better than standing around in the hall, although I’m sure Frances loves having something to look at. You can go in, get started on dinner, turn on the heater and warm up.”</p><p>“You want me to go in…without you?”</p><p>“If you don’t feel comfortable…”</p><p>“No I do, I just…do <em>you?”</em></p><p>Aziraphale was quiet and Crowley could almost see the gentle crease in his brow as he thought. “You know I really think I do. I’ll leave it up to you, though. I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch the next bus.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Uh. Okay. See you soon, bunny.”</p><p>“Toodle-oo.”</p><p>Crowley stared down at their phone then over at the plant at the end of the hall. It suddenly seemed very far away and foreboding. They couldn’t stay out in the hall, not for half-a-bloody-hour. Sitting in the car was also not the best idea, turning on the heat to stay warm would likely mean spoiling the chicken. They went over, retrieved the key, and found themself standing outside his door once more.</p><p>This was fine. It wasn’t like, <em>having </em>a key, they were <em>borrowing</em> a key. It was going to go back where it came from. Fuck. Aziraphale trusted them to go into his space, his safe space, without him. Trusted them not to muck around in his belongings, not to mess things up, not to burn down the apartment. They slid the key into the lock. The door creaked open. Crowley stepped in. There was a small night light plugged into an outlet in the kitchen and they could just catch the glimpse of another down the hall.</p><p>“Uh. Hello. Aziraphale’s flat.”</p><p>Fuuuuck fuck fuck fuck.</p><p>Crowley took a deep breath.</p><p>This was fine. This was their chance to spoil Aziraphale like they’d been daydreaming. They shut the front door, had a brief meltdown on whether or not they should lock it, it wasn’t their place, would that be too much, before remembering the lobby door didn’t lock and this door was their last defense against zombies.</p><p>They locked it.</p><p>Then they got to work.</p><p>They had noticed a lack of radio or T.V. or anything from the 21st century besides his kindle and a router politely blinking away in the corner. So Crowley brought with them one of their small bluetooth speakers and set some easy music playing. They’d also brought with them one of their aprons, because they thought it would get a laugh out of Aziraphale when they pulled it out. It was an obnoxious thing with polka dots and ruffles; they loved it.</p><p>Once they were well underway making the meal their nerves calmed down. Before they knew it they had a text from Aziraphale.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Just about at my stop! Should be there in ten minutes or so.</span>
    <span class="ts"> 7:39 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p>They sent a thumbs up. Washed and dried their hands. Panicked a bit. Then remembered the wine they brought and went about opening it and pouring him a glass. It would be nice to come home to on his birthday, nice after the evening they had at the shop, but that evening <em>on</em> his birthday? Crowley was really glad they’d gotten that huge slice of cake after all, perhaps they should’ve gotten two.</p><p>The timing was perfect really. The food was in the oven, would be done in about twenty minutes, the water was up for the pasta. Aziraphale would have enough time to kick off his shoes and tell Crowley in detail what had happened and sip his wine.</p><p>They heard the elevator gate rattle and nervously stepped out of the kitchen area. They tried really, really hard not to think about how…this is how it could be. Crowley didn’t <em>have</em> to be at the gallery all day, every day. They could very easily be home and making dinner or ordering take out and setting up a movie just in time for Aziraphale to come in.</p><p>But that was definitely too fast.</p><p>Too soon to say…the words, and much too soon to be thinking about living together and oh, how the sound of Aziraphale’s keys outside the door made their breath catch and this was fine, they were fine, everything was fine.</p><p>Aziraphale stepped in.</p><p>“Hey you,” Crowley said.</p><p>“Hello, dear.”</p><p>“I uh, I poured you some wine, thought you might want some after the <em>incident.</em>”</p><p>“Yes. Right…” He hadn’t left the doorway. He stood, one hand on the door knob, the other holding his keys, and looked around the apartment like he’d never seen it before. Crowley watched him look at the glass of wine on the table before slowly trailing over to the little speaker on the coffee table. He turned, just slightly, to look towards the kitchen. It wasn’t a mess, Crowley made sure not to make a mess.</p><p>“Bunny?”</p><p>“Um, I…excuse me.”</p><p>He scurried past, going down the hall. Crowley heard the bathroom door gently shut.</p><p>That was…not what they expected.</p><p>Crowley closed the front door and locked it. He hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Did they do something wrong? The music was alright, the two of them had gone over songs to avoid and there was nothing there. They hadn’t messed with anything they didn’t need to touch to make the meal. The wine was one he had had before. Crowley waited. Gave him space. When the water came to a boil they put in the pasta and set a timer. Then they ventured down the hall.</p><p>“Hey…’ziraphale? Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>Oh fuck he was crying, why was he crying? “Hey, I can—do—should I go? I can go. Uh. I can turn off the food or, or I can finish cooking it and then go—?”</p><p>There was a shuffle on the other side of the door before it swung open, “No! Don’t go!” He hadn’t taken off his coat, his eyes were red, and there were tears still running down his cheeks, “Please.”</p><p>“Talk to me, what happened? Did I…what did I do?”</p><p>He glanced down the hall, toward the living room, “Nothing. You didn’t,” he sniffled, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, “it’s perfect.”</p><p>“It’s…perfe—these are <em>happy </em>tears?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Oh <em>fuck me</em>, bunny!” Crowley let out a breath, grabbing him and pulling him into a hug. “You scared me,” they whispered.</p><p>“…sorry…”</p><p>“S’ok.”</p><p>Aziraphale clutched onto the front of their apron, voice muffled and shaky with tears, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad I found you, that you found me, I’m just, I’m so glad, Crowley.”</p><p>“Me too, bunny, me too.”</p><p>Crowley rubbed his back for a moment before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Hey, can we shuffle this sniffle party into the kitchen? I’ve got pasta that needs stirring.”</p><p>“Ah, I’ll uh,” Aziraphale pulled back, wiping at his eyes, “you go on, I’ll just wash my face.”</p><p>“Alright. And hey,” Crowley tugged gently at his sweater vest, “I adore you.”</p><p>Aziraphale made a sound that said he might start crying again, lip quivering.</p><p>“And your splotches.”</p><p>“Oh hush!” He slapped at their arm, already laughing. “Go on, then. I’ll be right out.”</p><p>They went down the hall while Aziraphale disappeared into the bathroom once more. After stirring the pasta and peeking at the chicken in the oven, Crowley looked out at the living room. The music still filled the air, soft and soothing. Aziraphale’s glass of wine sat waiting. Their puzzle took up most of the coffee table, waiting to be finished.</p><p>Ah fuck, if they weren’t careful they were going to start crying.</p><p>It really was perfect.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>feel like we really earned that domestic fluff tag with this one, friends &lt;3<br/>also, have fun with the "which food opinion is actually Jace's Challenge"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello friends!! Thanks, as always, for your patience between updates! 2021 has been uh. interesting, to say the least. and for a while there it was literally one thing after another. oh also I moved! (for those of you that've been with me for a while, yes, AGAIN lol)<br/>anyway, i'll spare you my tales of woe pft<br/>this chapter's just a lot of filler lol, checking in with side characters we haven't seen in a bit, silly texts, and gearing up for Valentine's Day &gt;:3c<br/>this chapter was originally 13k and wasn't even finished, I still had a couple scenes to write! So I decided a 15k behemoth of a chapter was probably a bit much and split it in two. Sorry if it cuts off in a weird spot, I tried to avoid cutting it off on an unnecessary cliff hanger and there's a LOT coming in the next update! Since its like, 80% done I <em>want</em> to say it'll be coming soon after this one.<br/>I wont say that though.<br/>because that feels like tempting fate lol<br/>enjoy!! &lt;3</p>
<p>also wow SO MANY PEOPLE were team chunkless salsa! i feel so seen ngl XDD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh I’m so glad we can do this,” Tracy said as she slipped off her coat, “it’s been so long!”</p>
<p>“It has, hasn’t it?”</p>
<p>“’Cause someone has been distracted with their new booooyfriiiiend,” Anathema sing-songed.</p>
<p>Aziraphale fiddled with the hem of his sweater underneath the table, “Yes, that’s true. I am sorry, I haven’t meant to cast you all aside, truly! I-I don’t want you to think that I suddenly only have time for Crowley or that I don’t—”</p>
<p>“Az, Az, Az,” Anathema said, “it’s fine. You’re fine. We’re just teasing! It’s been what? A month?”</p>
<p>“Almost two.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and you got together in the middle of the holidays, we’ve all been doing our thing, you’re fine.”</p>
<p>“Ah, well, that’s good to know. Really I haven't meant to ignore you all.”</p>
<p>“Azi, it's fine love. Did you two order?”</p>
<p>“Okay… and yes, we did. Anathema said you’d like the omelet with all the meat and peppers and what-have-you.”</p>
<p>“And she’s right,” Tracy said. “So, two months, Still going strong?”</p>
<p>“Oh very much so. At least, I think so. It's been,” he let out a happy, dreamy sigh, “just wonderful. I keep fearing I’m going to wake up and it will have all been a dream.”</p>
<p>“I still can't believe I could have brought you two together <em>a lot</em> sooner. Crowley told me about you the <em>morning after </em>the rave. It was the first thing they said!”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Yup. They said they met a ghost and that he was beautiful. And <em>they let me think </em>it was a real ghost.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” said Tracy, “that's so wonderful though! Because Azi and I had lunch soon after the rave and he told me all about his siren!”</p>
<p>“You two have been pining for each other since Halloween. Is that your anniversary? Halloween?”</p>
<p>“Oh I—we haven't—I’ve tried not to get ahead of myself. I haven't let myself think about anniversaries.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” Tracy asked.</p>
<p>“Well...what if they don't, we don't...you know.”</p>
<p>“Oh love, you can't go through life being afraid of happiness.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale busied himself with sipping his water to swallow down the scoff that almost left him.</p>
<p>“I dunno, I’m with Az on this. Planning that far into the future, especially when you’re wrapping happiness around it, feels like a quick road to disappointment. You just can't really challenge the Universe that way.”</p>
<p>“I don't see it as a challenge,” Tracy said.</p>
<p>“It's like saying ‘I dare you to screw this up for me’, and She can!”</p>
<p>“Well of course but I think it's a bit pretentious to think your actions have any sway on what the Universe <em>already </em>has planned for you. She's going to put you exactly where you need to be, when you need to be there. Look at how these two met, at a silent rave of all things.”</p>
<p>“Right, yeah, exactly. Where you need to be when you need to be there, so why bother planning anything?”</p>
<p>“Because you have to live your life in the meantime. She's just there for the key bits, the important markers and milestones. She's not controlling every aspect of your life. Not with a whole universe at hand. How important do you think you are, really?”</p>
<p>“And an anniversary is a milestone! I just don't see the point in looking forward to things when you don’t know what the future holds. Why get excited for something that could fall through?”</p>
<p>“Oh love, that’s so bloody bleak. So you don’t look forward to anything in life?”</p>
<p>“I mean, yeah, like short distances. Hands reach. Several months out. But things like five or ten year plans?”</p>
<p>“Oh goodness no, <em>that's </em>tempting fate.”</p>
<p>Anathema threw her hands up, “That's what I’ve been saying!”</p>
<p>“No, you've been saying there's no point in planning <em>anything </em>because it challenges the Universe and I don’t agree with that. For one thing, do you really think She would throw a wrench in your hopes and dreams out of spite? Do you think the Universe is that petty?”</p>
<p>“Not spite but more like, a, a reminder of where your place in the grand scheme of things is. How small you are.”</p>
<p>“I just don’t understand why you view it as you <em>versus </em>the Universe. You're working hand in hand with Her. She has an eye on the bigger things that you can’t possible comprehend and you manage the daily life in-between.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale slid his phone out of his pocket and started typing under the table.</p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p class="messagebody">

</p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I believe you owe me a slice of cake</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 2:17 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">what? nooo!!</span>
<span class="text">in less than five mins??</span>
<span class="text">really??</span><span class="ts"> 2:19 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Well I didn’t set a timer but it’s certainly less than fifteen. Fortunately for you I’m much too much a gentleman to say ‘I told you so’.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:20 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">fjdlakjf</span>
<span class="text">you just did</span><span class="ts"> 2:20 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply"><span class="x1F60A"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Smiling Eyes )</span></span></span><span class="tssent"> 2:21 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">i really thought they’d make it at least 15 mins, anathema loves to gossip!</span>
<span class="text">are you making our relationshp sound boring is that what it is?</span><span class="ts"> 2:22 PM</span></p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I am doing no such thing. As I told you before, you have not experienced Tracy and Anathema in the same room, this always happens.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:23 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">did you flee to the bathroom?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:23 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">No, I’m hiding the phone under the table. They haven’t noticed yet.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:24 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">omg</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:24 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I think it’s endearing, I love this about them. I love listening to them discuss the Universe and their beliefs and where we fit in. Eventually the word ‘ineffable’ is going to pop up, it always does. Would make an interesting drinking game, listening to these two. It’s fascinating. And it isn’t harming anyone.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:25 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">except your lunch date</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:25 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">I don’t mind. Saves me from gushing embarrassing things all over the place.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:26 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">ohhh??? like what???? what kind of embarrassing things do you want to gush about us??</span>
    <span class="ts"> 2:27 PM</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">Who said it was about us? I have very strong feelings about macarons you know.</span><span class="tssent"> 2:27 PM</span>
  </p>
</div><p> </p>
<p>“Az!”</p>
<p>He jerked his head up, “Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Are you texting?”</p>
<p>“Well I just thought while the two of you discussed whether or not the entire concept of my anniversary is doomed I might check in with the girlfriend in question.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, love, you know how we get.”</p>
<p>He slipped his phone into his pocket, “I do, and I don’t mind really.”</p>
<p>“Well here’s a date that’s more immediate, do you two have any plans for Valentine’s Day?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale flushed, “Oh goodness no, we haven’t really discussed that yet.”</p>
<p>“It’s in like, two weeks.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m aware.”</p>
<p>“It’s the perfect opportunity to take things to new levels,” Tracy said, wiggling her shoulders and waggling her eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Oh stop. I’ll have you know, since I know you’re both pretending to not be curious and I thank you for the valiant effort, but, we’ve done nothing more than kiss.”</p>
<p>Anathema and Tracy exchanged a glance.</p>
<p>“It’s been like two months you said.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and?”</p>
<p>“I think it’s sweet you’re taking it slow,” Tracy said.</p>
<p>“Yeah, no that’s, whatever works for you two. I’m not that person at all though.”</p>
<p>“Oh me neither,” Tracy said. “I don’t think there’s any such thing as too soon for that.”</p>
<p>The words ‘too soon’ pulled Aziraphale in a different direction. “Erm,” he said, “speaking of ‘too soon’ for things. When is…well,” he fiddled with his silverware.</p>
<p>“Go oooon.”</p>
<p>“One moment, let me make sure…” Aziraphale pulled out his phone, making sure he hadn’t accidentally dialed Crowley and called them. Or anyone else for that matter. Then he set his phone aside on the table. “How soon is too soon to say…that…you love someone?”</p>
<p>Anathema and Tracy squealed, grabbing onto each other without actually breaking eye contact with Aziraphale.</p>
<p>"Az, do you really?"</p>
<p>"Oh love!"</p>
<p>"I...I think I do. And I know we, they and I, haven't discussed anniversary things but I've been counting since our first coffee date the night of the play, December 10th, so we're almost at two months and, well, I don't know if it’s too soon? I've not done this in so long... and-and as you both made a point of saying, nothing is guaranteed so, perhaps it would be better to say it now, to make sure they know, even if we don't make it to a year?"</p>
<p>"Oh Azi, I don't think either of us meant to make you feel unsure about how things are progressing or how they'll go with Crowley."</p>
<p>"You give yourself far too much credit Tracy, my dear. I was already quite unsure, have been since this all started."</p>
<p>"I don't think it's too soon," Anathema said. "If it's how you feel, it’s how you feel. And you two talk about how you feel, right?"</p>
<p>"Of course, but there seems to be so much more weight to those three words than anything else."</p>
<p>"Ughgh which is so duuuumb. We should be saying ‘I love you’ to everyone we love. Our family and our partners and our friends and we shouldn't be saving it for some magical moment. We <em> make</em> those moments magical."</p>
<p>"I agree, my dear, but I also think there's still some weight to the first time it's said. Which isn't necessarily <em>bad</em>, it just...is. Certain things have more weight than others. And it's the weight of that first 'I love you' that is what frightens people, both from saying it and hearing it."</p>
<p>"Yeah but why wait though? What does waiting six months or eight months versus two do?"</p>
<p>He shrugged, "Well, I suppose if it's six or eight months in the fear that the other person is going to lose interest has mitigated a bit."</p>
<p>"Hmm," Tracy hummed. "Personally if someone told me they loved me then I'm <em>more </em>invested now that I now this is something real for them."</p>
<p>"Has it never happened when you <em>weren't </em>invested though? Someone said I love you and you weren't there yet?"</p>
<p>"Oh of course, and I simply tell them that."</p>
<p>"So waiting would give them more time to get there too..."</p>
<p>"Well," Anathema said, "I guess. Technically. But. I don't know! I think the moment you know you love someone you should tell them."</p>
<p>"What if they don't feel the same? What if I scare them off?"</p>
<p>"I mean, we're not talking about some hypothetical person here, were talking about Crowley. They fall for people really quickly. You're not going to scare them off. Even if <em>they<em> aren’t feeling that way yet, they’ll understand how <em>you</em> can be."</em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"And," Tracy added, "while I don't know Crowley as well as Anathema I do think even if they aren't feeling the same just yet, you two have established a healthy framework for communication haven't you? You'll talk about it."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighed, "That's what I'm afraid of. I don't want to discuss, rationally and objectively, how in love with them I am and how they need more time to see if they get there. That...goodness that will hurt. And I'll just be thinking every interaction thereafter that they're forcing themselves to try and reach for this goal that may never be in sight for them."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"I think you're over thinking it, love."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Sort of my modus operandi."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"I told Mary I was in love with her after two weeks."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Two weeks?" Anathema asked.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"What happened to telling someone one as soon as you know?" Tracy shot back.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>She sputtered, "Well, yeah, no, you're." She sighed, "Okay. Hmm." She crossed her arms and at back in her chair, "Gimme a second to figure out my thoughts."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"May I?" Aziraphale asked.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Anathema waved her hand.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"I do think another argument for 'too soon' is that you simply don't know someone that well. It takes time to get to know someone."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"But," Tracy said, "you're always going to be learning something about each other. Waiting until you know the entirety of a person is ridiculous."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Not the entirety," Anathema said, "just the core."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"I don't think this would be the case with Crowley at all,” said Aziraphale, “but generally speaking, hypothetically, what if you tell someone you love them and then you find a few months in they have some awful personal habit you just can't stand?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"And?" Tracy said, "I may not love their habits but it doesn't make me love <em>them</em> any less."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Alright," said Anathema, "what about if it's something major, what if you discover they've some really shitty world view?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Well that's different."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"And you'd love them a lot less," Anathema said.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"You both seem to be under the mistaken impression that your love, once given, can't be taken back."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Both Aziraphale and Anathema stared at her.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"It's yours," Tracy continued. "To do with as you please. So yes, if I confessed my love to someone and a few months later I discover, I don't know, something awful they--"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Don't respect sex workers," provided Anathema.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Yes! Perfect. Fine. Then no, I don't love them anymore. And that's fine. That's not a fault with my person. I'm not going to feel guilty or regret. For what? Loving another person? If it turns out they don't deserve it then, oh well. I choose what to do with my love, I choose who gets it, and I choose who keeps it. And if I know I love someone, I'm going to tell them. <em>And</em> I think you should tell Crowley."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Anathema tilted her head at Aziraphale, "They definitely respect sex workers at least."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>He laughed, "Fair enough."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Out of curiosity," Anathema said, "that person you told after two weeks? Can I ask how did that work out? I don't think I've ever put myself out there like <em>that</em>."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"It's going wonderfully. It'll be six months in March, we've got some very nice plans for Valentine's too."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Erm," said Aziraphale, "sorry. Shadwell?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"What about him? He's not much for Valentine's which works out well for the two of us. In fact, I think he’s a bit grateful to be able to shoo me off with Mary for the day."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Oh," said Aziraphale. "Alright then."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Wait six months?" asked Anathema. “How am I just now hearing about this?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Tracy ran a finger over one of her many bracelets. It was a rare moment when she actually seemed shy. "To be honest dearie, I...well. I was nervous. I told her, and I was nervous but I did it, and she said she was feeling very strongly but wasn't quite ready to put a word to it yet. Which is alright, we're having a wonderful time either way." She let out a heavy sigh, "You're going to laugh but...I suppose I didn't want to jinx it."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>And Anathema did laugh, but it was soft and kind. "Tracy I love that you are so fearless and still manage to be...I don't know, human."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Bold of you to assume I'm either of those things."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Anathema, when did you tell Newt?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>She blew out her lips in response, "I don't remember. We've known each other for so long. I might've said as friends first, back when we were in school. And then we were dating and it didn't change any, so," she shrugged.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Hmm."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Azi, love, just tell them. I'm so, so over the moon for you. And you said Crowley's been good to you?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Just wonderful. Which is why I don't want to upset it all."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"I can understand that," Anathema said. "For what it's worth I'm <em>also </em>team tell them. You could do it on Valentine's it's <em>right there</em>."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"That's a bit...I don't know."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Cheesy?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"No. Forced perhaps? I don't want them to think I'm saying it <em>because </em>it's Valentine's. I want it to feel genuine."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Anathema placed her hands over her chest, leaning in, "Oh but Aziraphale, if it comes from the heart it's genuine and perfect."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Oh good grief."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>She sat back with a grin, "I mean I'm being an ass but it's true."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>He glanced at his phone. He supposed he <em>could</em> do it on Valentine's. They hadn't made plans yet for the evening but he felt confident they would at least have dinner. And they'd had conversations about being themselves, about not being afraid of being too much, surely this fell under that umbrella. "Well," he said, "I appreciate your thoughts on it, both of you, I'll have to think about it some more." Even as the words left him he knew he wasn't going to do it. He was simply too afraid. The thought of Crowley having to gently explain they didn't feel the same, that they might eventually, but weren't there yet, he couldn't handle it. Just the hypothetical scenario floating in his head made his heart ache.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"So," Anathema said, shifting in her seat to face Tracy, "you mentioned 'very nice plans'? Anything you want to share with the class?"</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>"Class indeed," Tracy said, "the things I could teach you two."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Anathema cackled.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    </em></p>
<p></p><div class="phone">
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p class="messagebody">
</p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">Crowley I want to share something with you but you have to promise not to laugh.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">i hope you know by now, but i will 100% repeat it, that i wont ever laugh at you over osmething that is important to you</span>
<span class="breply">or is v serious</span>
<span class="breply">that being said </span>
<span class="breply">i get the feeling this maybe isn't super serious</span>
<span class="breply">in which case i make no promises</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Oh all right.</span>
<span class="text">As you know, Anathema has been bombarding me with bunny reaction photos since she heard you say it. And Bee and Dagon perhaps found out at work, I couldn't possibly say how and it certainly was not the result of us gossiping about our partners and petnames.</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">uh huuuuuuh</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">But!</span>
<span class="text">Since then, Bee has also started sending me some and zie sent one that is just the most darling thing I've ever seen and I asked zir to share with me all the ones zie had and now I want to share one with you.</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">aww</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">But you musn't laugh!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">again , no promises</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Hmp. Fine.</span>
<span class="text"></span>
<span class="text">Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen??? I love her dearly.</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">is that</span>
<span class="breply">hello kitty</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text">No, she's a BUNNY. Her name, according to Bee, is My Melody.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">no no i mean</span>
<span class="breply">she's from the hello kitty world</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Oh, perhaps. I have no idea. Although! Bee did share that she even has a girlfriend!</span>
<span class="text"></span>
<span class="text">It’s you!</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">wha! that's not me!</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Oh.</span>
<span class="text">Ok.</span>
<span class="text"></span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">OI!!!</span>
<span class="breply">YOU CAN'T</span>
<span class="breply">THAT'S NOT FAIR</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text"></span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="breply">god you've already learned how to weaponize them</span>
<span class="breply">ive created a monster</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="text"><span class="x1F60A"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Smiling Eyes )</span></span></span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">fine yes, i can be the ...pointy ...skull ....cat to your melody</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text">Don't be ridiculous.</span>
<span class="text">She's ALSO a bunny. You're the pointy skull bunny to my melody <span class="x1F60A"><span class="hide">(Smiling Face With Smiling Eyes )</span></span>.</span></p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span class="breply">you are so fucking lucky you're cute</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p><span class="text"></span>
</p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <em></em>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><em><em><br/>    </em><br/>  </em>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Crowley stared at the giant, overstuffed teddy bear. It's black, beady, soulless eyes stared back. In its massive paws was a large gift bag stuffed with chocolates and a small bouquet of three roses. They had no doubt that all the goods were right at the top, floating on a bed of shredded paper that made up three-quarters of the bag's contents. Their gaze shifted up, following the string around the teddy's wrist and up to the balloons that floated above its head. One heart shaped balloon that read 'I love you', another with X's and O's, and a third that was a plain white heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>They stared hard at the bear.</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>The bear stared right back.</p>
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<p>“I’m not gonna buy you.”</p>
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<p>It stared.</p>
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<p>“You’re huge. And obnoxious. And I’d have to buy more chocolates just to actually fill your little gift bag.”</p>
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<p>The balloons swayed.</p>
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<p>“Most of all I’m not buying you because…you won’t bloody fit in his apartment.”</p>
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<p>Crowley couldn't even begin to picture it. Where would it go? There might be enough space between the couch and a bookcase but they strongly doubted Aziraphale would block access to any of his books. It was big enough to be an ill-fated, not-quite beanbag chair. Oh god what if Aziraphale adored it and kept it in the bed? Crowley could just see themself on the very edge while their boyfriend clutched a five foot tall, ten ton teddy bear.</p>
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<p>They pointed a finger in the bear's face, "Nu uh. You're not stealing bunny cuddles from me."</p>
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<p>Before the beady eyes could tempt them any further, Crowley turned on their heel and went down the nearest aisle.</p>
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<p>It was a ridiculous thought for a multitude of reasons. For one, they hadn't discussed Valentine's day at all yet. Aziraphale could hate it. For another, while they had certainly cuddled and made out, they'd never gone anywhere near a bed so Crowley had about as much claim to sharing that space as the stupid bear did. Still, they could buy chocolates. Aziraphale liked chocolates. Maybe flowers too. Or a plant, which would last infinitely longer than a single, cut flower. They paused in front of a box of hearts, the words 'I love you' embossed in fancy script.</p>
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<p>Everywhere, <em>everywhere</em> the phrase taunted them. They couldn't say it with a box of chocolates that was...cheap. It needed to be something more didn't it? Maybe they shouldn't say it yet at all. It was too much and too soon. Not even two months, really. They should probably wait till three. Maybe six.</p>
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<p>How did these things work anyway? When was the timeframe to say I love you? To give a key? To suggest moving in? To propose? Who set these guidelines and rubrics, anyway? Who was in charge of this? Whoever it was, Crowley wanted to have a chat.</p>
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<p>Eventually they made it to the checkout with the items they had gone to the market for, eggs and milk and bread because they'd been craving french toast. Did Aziraphale prefer french toast? Or a different breakfast staple? Crowley pulled out their phone.</p>
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    <span class="breply">what's your breakfast ranking?</span><span class="tssent"> 10:08 AM</span>
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<p>They didn’t get a response until they were already in the car.</p>
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    <span class="text">My what?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 10:15 AM</span>
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    <span class="breply">breakfast ranking</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 10:16 AM</span>
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    <span class="text">Ah yes. Repeating it word for word certainly cleared everything up, thank you.</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 10:17 AM</span>
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<p>“Bastard,” they grinned.</p>
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    <span class="breply">if you ranked french toast, waffles, and pancakes from favorite to least, what order doesit go in?</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 10:19 AM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">Oh!</span><span class="ts"> 10:20 AM</span>
<span class="text">Waffles go at the top of course. Followed by french toast and then probably a savory omelet or crepe, hash browns, oatmeal even. Granola. There’s a veritable cornucopia of egg options. Breakfast sausage. Cereal. Then I suppose pancakes.</span><span class="ts"> 10:23 AM</span></p>
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  <p><span class="breply">WOW</span><span class="tssent"> 10:23 AM</span>
<span class="breply">lot of pancake hatred here</span><span class="tssent"> 10:24 AM</span></p>
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    <span class="text">It’s not hatred, so much as that well… they’re so very boring.</span>
    <span class="ts"> 10:25 AM</span>
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    <span class="breply">put fruit on it</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 10:25 AM</span>
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    <span class="text">I can do that with waffles. And french toast. If I’m going to eat a flappy bit of cooked flour I could have crepes.</span>
    <span class="ts"> 10:26 AM</span>
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    <span class="breply">can never unread ‘flappy’</span>
    <span class="tssent"> 10:26 AM</span>
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    <span class="text">Why do you think they’re called flapjacks?</span>
    <span class="ts"> 10:28 AM</span>
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  <p><span class="breply">i’ve never called a pancake a flapjack in my life</span><span class="tssent"> 10:29 AM</span>
<span class="breply">flapjack sounds dirty</span><span class="tssent"> 10:30 AM</span></p>
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    <span class="text">Oh goodness.</span>
    <span class="ts"> 10:32 AM</span>
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<p>Crowley almost offered to go over and make the world’s best pancakes to change his mind. They didn’t even feel that strongly about pancakes, it was an excuse to see him. It was Thursday, he had the day off. But, they hadn’t made plans and Crowley didn’t want to crowd. Just because he didn’t have plans with Crowley didn’t mean he didn’t have plans.</p>
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<p>So instead they went home, made their french toast, all the while with the word ‘flappy’ stuck in their head, and flipped through some architecture magazines. Eventually they decided to go into the gallery. There was nothing to do there either, they were free for a few weeks yet, and Michael hadn’t gotten back to them about the new building. They chatted with Uriel for a while, talked about her thesis, her plans after graduation. She had a few internships on the table already, but none she felt particularly strongly about. Crowley said if that was the case she should wait. She was brilliant and would take over the world, they knew it, she could afford to breathe for a little bit while she finished out the semester.</p>
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<p>After that it was emails, rearranging their shelves. They booked their flight for the spring showcases they liked to attend in New York and Chicago. They’d been stalling because they wanted to invite Aziraphale. But was it too soon to take a trip together? They didn’t want him to feel pressured or uncomfortable. They’d not even spent the night at each other’s place, sharing a hotel room might be too much for him. Plus it was a week long endeavor, they weren’t sure he could take that much time off from the shop, he was the only full-time person. So they held off. There would be more shows, more gallery openings. They still constantly got invitations from old friends and colleagues, there would be another chance. Right now it was too soon.</p>
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<p>Too soon, too soon, too soon. Too soon to say they loved him, were <em>in</em> love with him, too soon to say they really, really hoped this was It for <em>him</em> because dear god it felt like It for <em>them</em>. It felt so very real and so very perfect. Which…they’d felt before, which was why they didn’t say anything.</p>
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<p>The way Crowley felt towards Aziraphale wasn’t new, it wasn’t magical or unknown to them. It wasn’t as though they’d never been in love before and here was this unfamiliar light. They had been in love before. They knew what this feeling was. They knew how deep it could run.</p>
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<p>And they knew how fast someone else could run away.</p>
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<p>It frightened Crowley, a little. How easily and quickly and deeply they fell in love with people. They’d fallen a little in love with complete strangers on the train. The way someone mouthed the words to the song they listened to, head bopping, hands moving. The quiet confidence and contentment in that one moment. They fell in love with people at the park. Watching parents run around, playing tag with their children, the exaggerated faces, the laughter, tending to scrapes and falls. They fell in love standing on line at the store. The way someone would read a message on their phone and smile to themselves. Sharing a video with the person standing next to them and the way they’d laugh. They'd fallen in love with the name at the end of a customer service email.</p>
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<p>Crowley fell very, very easily. How far was the only thing they had a bit of control over. Would it be a stumble, a scrapped knee? Or would it go on for ages? Would they fall so very far and hit so very hard that it was a long time before they recognized the person who got back up?</p>
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<p>While it had been a while, a long, long while since that happened last, they were still afraid of it. Over the years they had allowed themselves to fall short distances. To love strangers, to let their heart ache from a safe distance, to entertain the occasional crush before finding a different coffee shop with a different barista. They hadn’t let themselves truly fall in love in so long and here it was happening and it was happening fast and they wanted to savor the rush of wind in their face before the crash.</p>
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<p>They always thought it was funny, the phrase “it’s like riding a bike”; once you learn you don’t forget it. But no one ever mentions all the times you crash while learning. You remember each one of those too.</p>
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<p>They were scared. They were scared of giving in to this, of falling and hitting and looking up to find themselves alone. But they were also afraid of missing out, of ruining something so very good by seeming like they didn’t care at all. What if Aziraphale thought they weren’t invested, and left anyway? Then what would they have to show for it but regret? It took a long time for them to learn how to accept their open heart. To not resent the way it was so big, so ready to spill. To mop up the mess of their rejections and find ways to fill the spaces it left with everything else, to not allow regret and resentment in. They’d done a good job of it too. Stuffed art and work and hobbies into the cracks. Bits of rag and paper crammed in to stay the dam. But fear had still managed to work its way in.</p>
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<p>Crowley sat back in their office chair, staring hard at the latest of Aziraphale’s recommendations. They’d let the fear call the shots. Nestled deep and warm and heavy in their heart, they let it keep them from responding to interested messages, from pursuing the wink across the showroom, a number on a receipt. And they often, often thought about what possibilities they had missed. Had one of those moments been the chance to start something just as beautiful as what they had with Aziraphale? They didn't know, would never know. What they <em>did</em> know was that despite their best efforts to push the Ghost from their mind, to walk away from the temptation of the Bookseller, they turned out to be one in the same and walked into their gallery and stood in their office and said, “It’s me.”</p>
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<p>It wasn’t an easy decision, it didn’t click like a light switch, it didn’t, once made, make all the fears dissipate, bathed in a light of confidence and surety that this was the right course of action. But it was a decision Crowley made. And, if nothing else, they felt a bit lighter for at least having made one.</p>
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<p>They were going to tell him.</p>
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<p>They didn’t know how or when, on Valentine’s felt…gaudy and doing it beforehand felt weirdly like a bribe so it would wait until after. Less than two weeks, they could survive that long. Maybe they would even allow themself to enjoy the fall in the meantime. Well, less a fall now and more of a dive, really.</p>
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<p>After a while of puttering in their office, Crowley put on their coat and headed downstairs. There was something they had planned to do and they couldn’t remember what it was but odds were Uriel knew. When they got to the bottom of the stairs they ran their hand through the feathers of the wings briefly. Just a quick touch. They were still so soft, even after all this time.</p>
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<p>They turned to see Newt sitting on one of the benches, looking up at a painting.</p>
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<p>“Newt!” Crowley went over, “I haven't seen you in ages feels like.”</p>
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<p>“Hey Crowley. Not since the show I don't think.”</p>
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<p>“I meant to ask, how did your kids do? Did they get a good grade or?”</p>
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<p>He nodded, “They said their professor said they had the strongest work in the class.”</p>
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<p>“Yeeesss. I hope they thank Fallen in their awards speeches.”</p>
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<p>Newt chuckled quietly. “I erm. I wanted to talk to you about something.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah?” Crowley slid down to sit beside him, “What's up?”</p>
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<p>Newt didn't say anything right away. Only continued to stare ahead at the painting. Crowley could wait, they were used to it. When they first met Newt they thought he seemed reserved and quiet, happy to go with the flow. He always seemed kind of lost in thought, or space, just staring off. They soon discovered though that it was simply a matter of him thinking <em>too much</em>. His brain seemed to be a constant buzz of ideas and thoughts and concepts, moving at the speed of light. They'd discovered it one evening of drinks with Anathema and Lucy in tow, and Newt had gotten delightfully buzzed and spilled his thoughts everywhere. Crowley didn't even remember what they'd asked him but it was apparently something he'd been thinking about for some time and once he got going it kept going and branched off into other tangents and concepts and ideas. Crowley <em>loved</em> it, was completely enamored. But the next day Newt had seemed withdrawn and embarrassed. So, Crowley waited while he picked apart his thoughts and pieced them back together in a way that allowed him to present them controlled.</p>
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<p>“I," he swallowed.</p>
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<p>Crowley waited. Looked out at the painting in front of them.</p>
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<p>“I need your help.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah alright, anything.”</p>
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<p>“I erm. I want to learn how to...wear make up.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah?” Crowley couldn’t help the excitement that edged into their voice</p>
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<p>“Mhm,” he said, still staring straight ahead. “I know there's a sort of, make up department store nearby and I went in there and...it's so big. And so bright? How are there that many brands and items to choose from?"</p>
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<p>“Oof yeah, it's. A lot. I mean if you know what you're looking for it's not so bad but...no, that's a lie it’s still pretty bad. I once spent two hours trying to find a replacement mascara when they stopped making the one I really liked.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah… and I-I know they have employees there that will, if you ask, do your make up for you? To test it out or, I think to show you a certain look?”</p>
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<p>“Depends on what you're asking for, but yeah, they can do that.”</p>
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<p>“I just. I was afraid they would see me and...assume I was pursuing a more exaggerated look or, or doing drag and that's...not it.”</p>
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<p>“Ah.”</p>
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<p>“I. I mean. I. Hmm,” he pursed his lips and was quiet for several more minutes. Then, “I do think there's a large possibility someone would be able and willing to help me without being judgmental but...it's still scary.”</p>
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<p>‘Yeah. I completely understand that. I'd love to help you. We can go to the store together and pick stuff out or I can go for you if you aren't feeling ready for that, and we can hang out at yours or mine, oooooo we can do our hair too! I’ve been meaning to get a good deep conditioning night in.”</p>
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<p>Newt smiled, “Yeah that. That sounds nice. Erm. There's more though.”</p>
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<p>“Hmm?” Crowley thought they could tell where this was going but would never push or speak for him. If they were right, it was something they wanted Newt to be able to voice himself, if he was ready.</p>
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<p>“I erm,” he chewed his lip, staring hard at the floor. “I think I'm trans.”</p>
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<p>Crowley scooted closer trying to contain their grin. “Yeah? Do you know what flavor?”</p>
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<p>Newt shook his head, “I'm not. Really sure. I should probably know that though, right? I have so many friends who've said they just <em>knew</em> or they always knew and I’m, really not sure.” He let out a quiet laugh, “I'm already bad at this.”</p>
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<p>“No such thing,” Crowley said. “So long as your working to being your true self, you're doing just fine. Discovery is <em>largely</em> part of that process. Myself, most of my trans friends, had no fucking clue what was going on with themselves. A lot of them still don't. You really really don't have to find an answer right away, Newt. And even once you do, it does <em>not</em> have to be set in stone. You can change it at any time. God, I went through so many names.”</p>
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<p>Newt looked up at that, “Really? I don’t know, I thought Crowley was, you know. It suits you so well.”</p>
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<p>“Thanks,” they said, crossing their legs, “I picked it myself.”</p>
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<p>That got a genuine laugh out of him.</p>
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<p>“I have a special place in my heart though for my friends who've gone through every name phase with me in stride. Early twenties were... I was a 'Winona' for a while.”</p>
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<p>“Were not.”</p>
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<p>“Swear.”</p>
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<p>“I don’t think I have any plans to change my name.”</p>
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<p>“You don’t have to. “</p>
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<p>“Even if... I mean I know, I-I know, how I'm dressing and presenting has nothing to do with...anything else but...well.” He let out a heavy sigh. “It's not supposed to be scary any more right? It's twenty-fucking-twenty, it's not supposed to be scary.”</p>
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<p>His voice cracked a bit on the end there and Crowley reached out to rub his back. They wished they could say it wasn't anymore. And they could say that in many ways things were a lot better than when they'd been his age but that didn't make it less scary for Newt right now.</p>
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<p>“You mentioned how you're dressing and presenting. We're gonna tackle make-up together, are there changes you want to make to your wardrobe?”</p>
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<p>“Yeah. Yeah I. I really like dresses. I'm still warming up to heels though. They are <em>really </em>uncomfortable.”</p>
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<p>Crowley laughed, “I could lie to you and tell you that it’s not that bad and it gets better.”</p>
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<p>“Please do.”</p>
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<p>“It’s not that bad and it gets better.”</p>
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<p>He chuckled. “To be honest,” he pursed his lips tight once more, brow furrowed. “I really really like your style and how you dress. I really admire you, Crowley. I think, from the moment I first met you I knew that... This was was what I wanted but I didn’t <em>know</em> that that was what I was feeling. I don't. I. It was like an 'oh' but I didn't have any context for that 'oh'. It just existed and has kept existing and over the years it's started to take a shape and now I have the vocabulary for that shape and I. Want it.”</p>
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<p>“Oh..” Crowley said quietly. “Fuck, you're gonna make me cry in the middle of my own gallery.”</p>
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<p>“You think if we're both crying but completely silent they'll think it's an installation?”</p>
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<p>They snorted. “Listen. I'd be fucking honored to help you start this journey and experiment with <em>all</em> the things. I don't know if transitioning is on the table for you, and you don’t have to know that yet either, or even tell me, but I do know that when I considered it was bloody ages ago and so much has changed so I am not at all the best resource for info on that. But I've got friends I can talk to <em>if</em> that turns out to be something your considering.”</p>
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<p>“Alright,” he said with a nod. “I was erm. I was looking into ....shapeware? And, y’know, breastforms and…maybe?”</p>
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<p>“Yeeeeessss. That I <em>do</em> know the perfect shops for. It's been a while since I wore any but y’know I was thinking about it just the other day. We could get all dressed up together!”</p>
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<p>“Okay...”</p>
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<p>“How you feelin’?”</p>
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<p>“Hmm. Little nauseous.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah. I will say that I think that will actually get better. As soon as we find the look you’re looking for? Mmm, there's nothing quite like good gender feels. It’s delicious.”</p>
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<p>“That would,” he let out a heavy sigh, “that would be really nice.”</p>
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<p>“Can I ask, should I change what pronouns I use for you?”</p>
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<p>He let out quiet groan.</p>
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<p>Crowley nodded, “I know that struggle.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“I'm...going to say no. For now. Maybe in the future.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“Okay, just let me know.”</p>
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<p>“Thanks, Crowley.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“Oh I am <em>so excited</em>. When do you want to go shopping? I can shopping right now. I have nothing, URIEL,” they yelled across the gallery, causing the one person inside to turn and look at them, “I don’t have any meetings today right?”</p>
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<p>“No, Crowley. Just the latte you promised three hours ago.”</p>
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<p>“Oh shit, <em>that's</em> what I was supposed to be doing. Right.”</p>
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<p>“Mhmm.”</p>
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<p>“Ok, I have to caffeinate Uriel because she's got a thesis to finish but then we can go shopping. If you want to. Do you want to? I’m so fucking excited, Newt. But we don’t have to. If you don’t want to. Up to you.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“I uh. Yeah. Okay.”</p>
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<p>“Yes!” Crowley uncrossed their legs, “Okay wait here I'll be back in a fla—”</p>
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<p>“Wait. There's one other thing.”</p>
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<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>
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<p>“Erm. I haven’t told Anathema yet. Kind of nervous to.”</p>
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<p>“Anathema? Gotta be honest, Newt, I don't think it’ll be an issue.”</p>
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<p>“Well...” he frowned. Took a breath. “Don't take this the wrong way, I know you're basically the closest thing she has to a best friend and you two have known each other for ages and she loves you so much, she's so supportive of you...”</p>
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<p>“But?”</p>
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<p>“But. Well. You're not her partner. And I’m afraid it'll be different when it's her partner. I know it won't. I…I'm pretty sure it won't. But. I'm still nervous.”</p>
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<p>Crowley nodded, “Yeah. Sorry I didn't mean to make light of your fears. I do think it will be okay. But if you don’t want me to mention it or our shopping or anything, I won't.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah. Yeah I think I want to wait until I have, I don’t know...something to debut? She's seen me in dresses before but it's always been a bit for a party or a themed thing, like New Year’s. It's never been… a Tuesday afternoon at the movies.”</p>
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<p>“I understand. We'll put something together that will knock her little Ms. Frizzle glasses off.”</p>
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<p>Newt squinted.</p>
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<p>“Oh fuck me, you don’t know who Ms. Frizzle is?”</p>
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<p>“I don’t think Ms. Frizzle wears glasses.”</p>
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<p>“Doesn’t she?”</p>
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<p>“Pretty sure she doesn’t.”</p>
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<p>It was Crowley's turn to squint, “Who am I thinking of then?”</p>
<p>
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<p>“No clue.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“She has y’know, orange hair and big ol’ round gla—that’s Ms. Frizzle!”</p>
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<p>“It's not.”</p>
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<p>“I can see it in my head. With the,” they made a gesture around their head, “with, orange, pointy hair.”</p>
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<p>Newt frowned and took off his own glasses, wiping them as he thought. He slid them back on and said, “You’re thinking of the mother in Rugrats.”</p>
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<p>Crowley's mouth dropped open, “Oh no. Oh no I <em>am</em>.”</p>
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<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“Oh god. Don't tell her! Newt. Newt you can't tell her. You can't tell Anathema I compared to a Rugrats mom she will kill me, Newt. Newt, please.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“I can promise to at least wait until after you teach me how to contour.”</p>
<p>
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<p>“Wow. That's cold.” Crowley pushed to their feet while Newt laughed. “That’s real cold.”</p>
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<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
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<p>*</p>
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<p>It took an entire work day plus the bus ride home and another hour of pacing his living room for Aziraphale to work up the courage to text Crowley.</p>
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    <span class="breply">I have a question for you, my dear.</span><span class="tssent"> 7:37 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">hit me.</span><span class="ts"> 7:38 PM</span>
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<p>Oh! That came rather quickly. They must be at home. Perhaps watching some horrid, gory film.</p>
<p>
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    <span class="breply">Well. Valentine's Day is coming up and I'd wondered if you were...opposed to it?</span><span class="tssent"> 7:40 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">opposed to valentime's day?</span><span class="ts"> 7:41 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">Yes. Some people are very against celebrating and indulging. Quoting you should express your affection every day not just on one specific day.</span><span class="tssent"> 7:42 PM</span>
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<p>He hit send. He stared at the word ‘affection’. He’d typed ‘love’ the first time and deleted it, then re-typed it, before deleting it again. Too much. Too soon.</p>
<p>
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  <p><span class="text">oh ffs</span><span class="ts"> 7:43 PM</span>
<span class="text">i mean yeah obviously you should but also its just nice?? to have a bonus day of extra celebrating??</span><span class="ts"> 7:44 PM</span></p>
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  <p><span class="breply">Oh wonderful, I rather agree!</span><span class="tssent"> 7:46 PM</span>
<span class="breply">So...would you like to do something for the day?</span><span class="tssent"> 7:50 PM</span></p>
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  <p><span class="text">sure!!</span><span class="ts"> 7:51 PM</span>
<span class="text">dinner?</span><span class="ts"> 7:53 PM</span></p>
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  <p><span class="breply">Of course!</span><span class="tssent"> 7:55 PM</span>
<span class="breply">Stay in or eat out?</span><span class="tssent"> 7:56 PM</span></p>
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    <span class="text"></span><span class="ts"> 7:58 PM</span>
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<p>Aziraphale stared at his phone.
</p>
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    <span class="breply">What is THAT?</span><span class="tssent"> 8:00 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">its shrek!</span><span class="ts"> 8:01 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">What is a SHREK?</span><span class="tssent"> 8:03 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">well I guess I know what we're doing for valentine's day.</span><span class="ts"> 8:04 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">We're shreking?</span><span class="tssent"> 8:05 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="text">you just used shrek as a verb</span><span class="ts"> 8:07 PM</span>
<span class="text">that’s awful</span>
<span class="text">i love it</span><span class="ts"> 8:09 PM</span></p>
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    <span class="breply">I’m glad, but also still very confused.</span><span class="tssent"> 8:10 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">it's a movie, dove.</span><span class="ts"> 8:11 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="breply">Oh!</span><span class="tssent"> 8:11 PM</span>
<span class="breply">...is it a horror movie?</span><span class="tssent"> 8:12 PM</span></p>
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    <span class="text">no???</span><span class="ts"> 8:15 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">That does not instill me with confidence.</span><span class="tssent"> 8:16 PM</span>
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    <span class="text"><span class="x1F618"><span class="hide">(Face Throwing A Kiss )</span></span></span><span class="ts"> 8:17 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply">I suppose I'll start looking up recipes for dinner, do let me know if you have any preferences, dearheart.</span><span class="tssent"> 8:19 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">did you want to cook together?</span><span class="ts"> 8:26 PM</span>
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  <p><span class="breply">Hmm.</span><span class="tssent"> 8:27 PM</span>
<span class="breply">I’m not sure.</span><span class="tssent"> 8:28 PM</span>
<span class="breply">On one hand that would be very nice but on the other I'd like to cook FOR you.</span><span class="tssent"> 8:30 PM</span></p>
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    <span class="text">there's alway sdessert.</span><span class="ts"> 8:31 PM</span>
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<p>He considered that. It could be nice to make a meal together. Bustling around the kitchen, sipping wine, in close quarters…ooo.

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    <span class="breply">Wonderful idea! I'll make dessert then. Would you like to meet for lunch tomorrow and we can maybe discuss some dinner options?</span><span class="tssent"> 8:35 PM</span>
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    <span class="text">sounds good, darling <span class="x2764"><span class="hide">(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart)</span></span></span><span class="ts"> 8:36 PM</span>
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    <span class="breply"><span class="x1F495"><span class="hide">(Two Hearts )</span></span><span class="x1F495"><span class="hide">(Two Hearts )</span></span></span><span class="tssent"> 8:37 PM</span>
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<p>Aziraphale wiggled on the couch. They were going to spend Valentine’s together after all. Despite Tracy and Anathema’s encouragement, he still didn’t feel confident enough to fully confess his feelings just yet, but that was alright. An evening with Crowley was plenty for him. They would have a lovely dinner and, well, a passable dessert most likely, and cuddle and make out and…well. They hadn’t quite discussed that far. What if Crowley wanted to do something more? Aziraphale had gone to the doctor as well as his local clinic and gotten tested and a clean bill of health, he’d done it soon after Crowley admitted that sex was something they did have an interest in, but he didn’t quite feel prepared for it just yet. It was enjoyable, yes, but it was also tied up in a lot of different emotions that he didn’t want to poke. Not while things were going so well.</p>
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<p>He managed to calm his nerves about asking to make plans for Valentine’s only to replace them with nerves about the night itself.</p>
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<p>“I’m going to need more tea,” Aziraphale said to his phone.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can also find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/tfw_thevoid">twitter</a> !</p></blockquote></div></div>
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